Springtime in Paris
by Hybriseia
Summary: Springtime in Paris: What a wonderful time if there weren't war. But besides the scent of sweet flowers and the mild sunshine there were ways more subtle revelations which could turn a whole life upside down all of a sudden. Landa/Hellstrom slash story
1. Prologue

_Welcome to my second story I'm publishing here. Unnecessarily to say this story will contain contents of sexual acts between men, as well as parts of emotional violence/pain and other adult themes._

_I would deeply appreciated anyone who is kind enough to take the time to leave a small review, I will certainly respond it._

_My deepest gratitude to __LittleXMissXFatale for being my beta reader again!_

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><p>The sky was grey, grey and angry where the rain was steadily falling from. Paris, city of love, city of lights . . . now it was Paris, city of tears. The young Sturmbannführer pulled up the collar of his leather coat, quickening his steps. His heavy boots echoed loudly on the cobbled pavement.<p>

He was in hurry. Yesterday evening he had arrived from Berlin with the last railway, including a stopover in Luxembourg. Damages on the tracks by some acts of sabotages from the Résistance, they were saying. Hellstrom had been quite nerved, moving back into the sternmost corner of the compartment, burring himself in his book _The Myth of the Twentieth Century_ from Alfred Rosenberg. An anew interruption, however, couldn't come quickly enough as some minutes later the door had been opened and three young women in nurse uniforms entered the compartment. Barely had they recognized him, they were moaning about less free seats, telling him that they were on the way to Paris where they'll work in a military hospital. All three broads were babbling agitatedly that much so that Dieter got a headache in a short time.

He had tried to re-immerse himself into his book, but was too distracted by one of the women who had taken the seat next to him. She was observing him and twinkling, giving him a bright smile. She had crossed her legs, pushing inconspicuously with the top of her stiletto against his knee. Again she was giving him a certain kind of look, playing flirtatiously with her big blond curls. A grin had crept over Dieter's face. Obviously, she didn't want more than a good hard fuck.

When the train had finally arrived at the train station _Gare du Nord_ in Paris, the other broads couldn't wait to catch their bags and went outside to see the city. And how Dieter was expecting, the blonde was waiting for him. If he also were based in Paris, she wanted to know. If so, they could meet each other perhaps, to have a cup of coffee or a drink. He had only raised his eyebrows in question. Meeting him to have a cup of coffee or a drink? Well, she had answered, because he'd certainly stay in a ritzy hotel for the time of his sojourn here in France, which would be an opportunity to meet there, just having a nice, satisfying evening with each other.

He had examined her shortly before catching her, pressing her against the wooden wall. He forced a rough kiss upon her full lips, full of desire and need. Willingly like a good whore, she opened her mouth, let his tongue slip inside. Her whole body reared up against him, moaning full of pleasure. He had used her obvious lust, gripping her womanly hips to lift her up a bit. He was forcefully dragging at the zipper of her dress and finally put down the white fabric. He grinned slyly as she had given him a surprised gaze. If it wasn't what she had expected from him, he asked. He'd give her only what she was asking for. Here and now.

When she was looking appalled now about his words, Dieter burst into laughter. Giving her a last slap on her bottom, he had taken his bag and abandoned her.

Now the young Sturmbannführer was shaking his head to dispel those memories. The last night had been short and in a few minutes he'd have his inaugural visit to his new superior. The obligatory Nazi salute was following when Dieter entered the former French office building which was serving as headquarter of the Schutzstaffel now. Once again he struck over his uniform, arranging his medals and observing his heels if they were in a blameless condition. With everything fit, he knocked against the heavy oak door.

"Enter," a voice called from inside.

Hellstrom pressed the knob and entered. He clicked his heels smartly together. "Heil Hitler!" he belted out.

"Ja, Heil Hitler," the man returned who was getting up from his armchair. Dieter was examining him. He wasn't rather tall, a bit smaller than himself actually. A few grey strands decorated his sandy hair, especially at the temples. Some light wrinkles laid around the corners of his eyes and mouth, and his sly smile accented his expressive jaw. He and his faultless uniform compensated the deficit of his height perfectly. Hellstrom had already noticed which imposing, expressive and masculine charisma the uniform gave a man, but he had never realized before the charisma of power and authority so intensively like in front of that man. That expressiveness in the dark eyes of his counterpart let a shiver running over Dieter's back.

"Sturmbannführer Dieter Hellstrom," he introduced himself.

"Standartenführer Hans Landa," his future superior responded. Hellstrom's breath was caught. His future superior was Hans Landa, the so famous Jew Hunter! How much he had already heard about his brilliancy, his resourcefulness and his remorseless, merciless obstinacy he used for hunting his prey.

They shook hands with each other. "Please, have a seat," Landa gesticulated excessively in the direction of the chairs in front of his desk. Dieter took a seat while his future superior was lowering himself into his overhanging armchair. "You've outstanding references," he said, taking one of the dossiers from his desk and paging through it. When Dieter recognized that it was his own file, he got a nervous feeling. He knew that there wouldn't be only one negative note remarked actually, never had he done a bad job. Nevertheless, he wanted to give an absolute positive impression. "By your previous successful career and rapid raise through the ranks of both SS and Gestapo you had a bit of benefit certainly, hadn't you? Doubtless you're the protégé of a high-ranking SS-Führer in Berlin?" Landa asked, looking up suddenly and examining him disparagingly.

"Standartenführer?" Hellstrom replied bewildered.

"Well," the Standartenführer was shrugging his shoulders, leaning back, "you just know, nowadays no one needs great skills to make career in the Third Reich. Relations . . . you don't need any more than good relations. Moderateness begins to arise and everywhere you find so many young men who only can stupidly express the words of our Führer and dare to imitate him in gesture and mimic, ridiculing themselves and at least Adolf Hitler." Landa was pausing to give his words more importance. "Lots of young men, thinking and behaving this way, I've had here in front of me, exactly where you're sitting, only to get disappointed over and over again. It doesn't count for them to serve the Führer, their membership in the Schutzstaffel is only a well-calculated decision for them, a stepping stone, if you want to put it like that, to push on their own career. And now I want to know from you if you're also someone like them?" His dark eyes was looking sternly and dictatorially down onto Hellstrom, expecting and assessing, giving him the feeling to shrink.

Dieter swallowed against the lump in his throat as returning valiantly: "Standartenführer Landa, I assure you that my oath as an SS man means more than anything else to me! Believe me, neither you nor the Führer I will ever disappoint! I was swearing at least that my honour is my loyalty and I'll follow that oath for Führer, nation and fatherland!"

Hellstrom was taking a deep breath, inwardly agitated from the stirring feeling of his own words. Like that very moment, he was also feeling at some events of the Party and the speeches there which were sweeping everyone completely away. He remembered how a shiver was running through the mass of people, shaken by the eloquence and rhetoric of the speaker, going up to each other, becoming a homogeneous crowd which was thousandfold-, no, millionfold shouting the slogan of their shining figure: "Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!" It was the picture of unity, domination, system and implicitly allegiance. German values shall cure the world, the master race had arisen. A new age dawned, every weakness and non-German would be liquidize, and in the war's burning forge will be hammered a new empire, battle-tested, proud, predestinated to rule. The golden times were coming. Dieter got dizzy like always when he was devoting himself to the National Socialism with heart and soul.

He raised his gaze, meeting Landa's eyes which were resting on him. Did they only rest on him? He had rather the strange feeling they would infiltrate him, deep into the ground of his soul. The odd contact held still a moment before was suddenly interrupted when the Standartenführer was rising up from his armchair. Faster than Hellstrom had expected, he was standing next to him and laying a hand on his shoulder. Dieter almost upset his own chair when trying to get up to his feet.

"My dear boy," Landa said, leaning forward in a confidential way. His hot breath was stroking over Hellstrom's cheek who was cringing, but it wasn't a displeasing feeling which was creeping over his back. He lowered eye, all the more he felt him drowning in the dark eyes of his counterpart. "Truly, how long I was waiting for a man like you. You're a man who's impressed by the right esprit and has a straight national and loyal attitude," the Standartenführer continued. When he saw the young man in front of him still lowering his eyes, he laid his hand under Hellstrom's chin to lift it up, meeting his gaze. "You and I," he whispered quietly, "we both are brothers in mind, I notice. I'd be truly surprised if our cooperation won't be most successful and fruitful. Am I not correct, concerning this matter?" When Hellstrom replied nothing, Landa let his hand stroking over his cheek slowly which made the young man jump.

"Of course, Standartenführer," Dieter answered fast, swallowing against the lump in his throat. He didn't understand what had come over him. Something was wrong with him, something happened here which Dieter didn't recognize and that was scared him. And the straight closeness to his superior didn't make the situation easier, rather it seemed as if it were the closeness to the Standartenführer which confused him in such a way. But that couldn't be, he must only imagining that. Nevertheless . . . it was a strange feeling the Standartenführer was giving him.

A sly grin crossed over Landa's face. "I haven't expected anything else, my boy," he nodded. Hellstrom was assured that Landa was finally putting his hand away. "Well, then I don't want to hold you up any longer, there's a lot of work to do at least. Here's to successful cooperation!" They shook their hands once more before Dieter was released. He respectfully offered the Nazi salute to Landa and left the office, inwardly excited what Paris would offer him.

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><p>So he didn't notice anymore that Landa, barely after Hellstrom had left, burst into laughter. Good grief, what a model-Aryan the Berlin bigwigs had sent him again! The young man was just acting as if he had gotten his instruction from the Führer in person. How ridiculous! But nevertheless . . . that blind submissiveness wasn't without charm, the guy could be useful.<p>

Hans had also noticed with amusement how irritated his counterpart was about his physical presence. He wasn't able to look into his face, not even when they had been standing next to each other; a true shame because his new young colleague was surprisingly handsome. His pale facial features were slender, had something delicate almost and these big blue eyes . . . It was that sensitive look which the women like so much.

Landa poured a glass of cognac to himself before taking a seat and lighting a cigarette. He was also curious what the coming days will bring.


	2. Fears

_**Welcome to chapter 2!**_

_I'm so sorry that it was taking such a long time until I was updating, life's just rather stressful at the moment. But I want to thank you all who have showed interest in this story and added it to their alerts/favourite list._

_My highest gratitude to LittleXMissXFatale for being my beta reader again!_

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters of the Inglourious-Basterds-Universe are copyrighted to Quentin Tarantino. All other characters are copyright to me._

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><p>Slowly and continually, like leaves fell down from the trees in autumn, so now white and soft pink blossoms were dropping down to earth. The treetops were gently swaying in the breeze of spring, making this sunny day appear unpleasantly cool. Nevertheless, the banks of the Seine were thronged with Parisian people who couldn't wait to catch the first of the suns rays of the spring after a long cold winter. And Dieter was among them.<p>

The young Sturmbannführer had casually taken a seat on a park bench and was waiting now, completely lost in his thoughts. Today he wasn't wearing his black uniform for a change, but a simple dark suit as the civilians wouldn't take any notice of him. He threw a brief look at his watch. Still fifteen minutes until his contact would appear to hand over the information.

Hellstrom had only a vague supposition that the information would be about latest news of the Résistance. Standartenführer Landa hadn't told him any details which confused him as well as made him feel hurt. After all, he wasn't a common soldier or stooge. It wasn't the first time either that he was cooperating with deserted people of the resistance. He had already been able to gain experience in mastering those insurgents of the communist and other political camps in Poland and Ukraine; all those subversive and Bolshevik elements which were a threat to the Reich.

He sighed slightly and let his gaze wander over the square, stopping at a young woman who was sitting on the park bench next to him. She, too, seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. She looked nice, he noticed, dressed neatly in her red dress and cream-coloured coat with a fur collar. Only a few steps away from her, a little boy with tousled dark hair was trying to fly a small plane, made out of cardboard. "C'est nul, maman!" he called, disappointed as it didn't work.

The woman chuckled as she rose and stepped towards her little son. "Ce n'est pas la mer à boire, Yves. Allez, nous allons à la maison."

The little boy pouted at first, but then as his mother held out her hand to him invitingly, he took it willingly. They slowly left the square, unaware of Dieter staring at them. He felt himself reminded of his own childhood, of the days at the Havel and Spree in Berlin where he had played or, when he was older, read in the summer. He never had many friends, and never had wanted them. He wanted to go his own way.

Hellstrom threw his gaze down at his watch again; five more minutes. He sat up right and let his sharp eyes wander over the square once more. Yes, he had gone his own way. A way towards a better life; away from his home, away from his degenerated father, that disgusting tyrant. He could remember briefly the bitter face of a corporal, who was always puffy and reddened by the countless beers and schnapps he had gulped down since he came back from the Great War as cripple. Dieter had hated that man, even when his mother always told him that only the lost war and treaty and dictated peace of Versailles - the dictate of shame - were to blame for everything bad in Germany. Dieter had hated that man nevertheless. Never had he acknowledged him as his father, that brutal man who always started punching and yelling when he came home from the pub, stinking of alcohol in the midst of the night. Still now Dieter could remember painfully his mother crying almost every night, either because she had been beaten by her husband or because she didn't know where get the money from for food. The less benefit they got from the state hadn't been enough to provide a family and to finance his father's benders.

Hellstrom stared down at his hands. His mother told him once these were the hands of an artist or musician, long and slender and filigree. The women would love him. His so-called father, however, just said he would only be suitable as a rent boy with these hands. What could he, that skinny fellow, ever reach in life? What a pity that his wife had borne him such a weak son.

Dieter swallowed hard as he fought against those memories. They were like old demons in his soul who were still tormenting him, now and again, from time to time when he didn't pay attention to what he was thinking. He tried to pull himself together.

He could hear a church bell striking. It was seven o'clock. The sky had become paler, turning into a red colour as the sun slowly set. The square had emptied out just as slow making him the last one remaining. Restlessness came over Dieter. Where the hell was that damn man? It was the right place and time.

Hellstrom tried to suppress the nervousness and to give the impression of a normal civilian, but he failed doing so. This was his first commission here in Paris, so nothing should go wrong, not only a small matter. How embarrassing it'd be to return to Standartenführer Landa empty-handed, although he was coming with the best references from Berlin. No, that may not happen! Then what would the Standartenführer think? That he was too stupid and incompetent to simply meet a contact?

He had to swallow hard again as his thoughts were flashing back involuntarily to the Standartenführer. Still now he felt as if he could sense the feeling of power and authority exuding from Landa by only thinking of him. Besides he couldn't get rid of the feeling which had come over him as Landa's warm hand stroked his cheek.

But it seemed he didn't have any other choice than to leave empty-handed. Hellstrom didn't want to admit defeat at first, staying at the park bench as if he could force the appearance of the contact with that. He reached into the pocket of his coat to get out his light and cigarette case. The smoke was sharp and acrid bitter as he took a drag. A pleasant feeling was ran through his body and demanded for nicotine once more. Dieter knew his addiction for cigarettes and lust for alcohol would kill him someday.

After more than half an hour and five smoked cigarettes he gave up. It had become unpleasantly cool in the meanwhile. The fear of failing made him break out into a sweat. What will the Standartenführer think of you, was the only thought in his head. It was terrible to disappoint those you had great respect for, maybe even those you admire. Never did Dieter care about what his father thought of him, as well as never caring about the broads he had. What man would he be if he bothered about the opinion of a drunkard and some cheap sluts?

But his self-confidence was already passé. It almost gave him the creeps about how intensively his thoughts were circling around his superior officer. Wasn't he exactly what Dieter had ever wanted to be? A man of the world who you encounter with prestige and authority. Authority . . . yes, this was what he desired. Authority and with that associated power and prestige. Nothing would satisfy him more than the knowledge to finally gloat over all those who amused over the slight boy he had been.

It wasn't easy to get up for Hellstrom and manage his steps along the Seine in the direction to the SS headquarters. His way would guide him through half of Paris, but he renounced to take the metro. While he was walking through the Parisian evening in the rising spring, he thought about what to tell the Standartenführer, but no satisfying answer came to his mind. "Scheiße," Dieter cursed quietly.

The last rays of the setting sun were resting warmly on his face as he walked up the stairs to the white building, looking cold and unapproachable, but feeling slightly sick inwardly. Only briefly did he recognize the saluting guard from the corner of his eyes. A lump had built up in his throat, pressing unpleasantly against his Adam's apple as he lifted his trembling hand and knocked against the heavy door of Landa's office in an almost shy manner.

"Yes, enter," he heard what made Dieter's heart sinking.

He pressed the bronze door handle hesitantly. Landa seemed to be quite surprised as he met Hellstrom's gaze, but a sly yet unbelievably charming smile crossed his face. "Ah Sturmbannführer. I actually haven't expected to see you today. Did you not want to meet one of our intermediary of the Résistance?" he asked with his unmistakable Vienna dialect. "Please, have a seat," he gesticulated to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

Shy like a misbehaving child who was to appear in front of the school principal, Dieter took a seat at the edge of the chair. "That's why I'm here, Standartenführer. It . . . it must have been a small . . . misunderstanding," he started to explain hesitantly, noticing his hands covered in cold sweat.

"A small misunderstanding?" the Standartenführer repeated, raising his eye brows in an expressive manner. His dark eyes had become a touch sharper.

Hellstrom nodded shortly, and Landa gesticulated him silently to continue. "I was at the Boulevard Saint-Germain at seven o'clock like I was instructed this morning, but nobody appeared." It sounded like a poor excuse, even in his own ears.

"And how long exactly have you been there?" the Standartenführer asked after a while. His voice was soft, almost a gentle whisper. It was a hard contrast to his sparkling eyes.

Only now Dieter recognized how sweaty his shirt was. "More than fifteen minutes before seven o'clock to take an overview of the situation," he answered quietly.

Landa nodded before he continued: "And then, my boy?"

"Well," Hellstrom started, "I took a seat on one of the park benches and waited, acting as if I'd enjoy the sun and have my mind somewhere else." He shrugged helplessly with his shoulders.

"Interesting . . . and what were you thinking of?"

The question took Dieter by surprise. He looked at his superior in confusion, not sure if he had understood what the Standartenführer wanted to know. Landa, however, raised his eyebrows, obviously expecting an answer. "What do you mean, Standartenführer?" Hellstrom asked bewildered.

"Well, I mean if you weren't a bit too absent-minded. The avenue Saint-German is a noble boulevard and the ladies who stroll along there are lovely women. So maybe that's what you had your mind on." The lurking expression in the dark eyes of his superior was obvious now.

It must have been years ago since Dieter blushed, letting a soft redness spread over his cheeks. Strangely, he felt as if he had been caught, even though he had been thinking of something much different when he was sitting on the park bench at the boulevard. The embarrassment of blushing like a little boy made Dieter angry with himself. "I wasn't gawping at some broad if that's what you mean," he replied snottily before becoming aware of his answer.

Within a fraction of a second, Landa's eyes hardened and his smile lost its winning characteristic. "This way of . . . expression," he stressed this very word, "doesn't fit an officer like you."

Dieter swallowed against the lump in his throat. His superior's voice had been calm, but didn't fit with the expression in his dark eyes that Landa sharply looked at him with. They gave him a strange, oppressive feeling, as if the Standartenführer were able to wipe away easily the cold façade of his face and look deeply into his soul, seeing his true self. A shiver crept over his back, both burning hot and ice-cold. "I . . ." he stammered without any idea of what to say.

Landa raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner, looking at him full of expectation. "Yes, Sturmbannführer?" he returned, still with a serious look, but the corner of his mouth was twitching as if was amused with his younger colleague.

"I beg your pardon, Standartenführer. I've no right to speak to you like that," Dieter mumbled, lowering his gaze.

As Landa suddenly rose from chair, Dieter tried to jump up onto his feet quickly. With big eyes he followed the steps of his superior who slowly and deliberately went around his desk and stopped next to him. Dieter's heart was pounding rapidly in agitation and nervousness as Landa laid his hand onto his shoulder. It was warm and strong, and even more he felt himself becoming weak, becoming a nonentity. Just like his father had always said.

"I see you're a man who's clearly holding his opinion," the Standartenführer whispered with a soft voice. The grip of his hand became stronger which made Dieter's heart pound even faster, and a warm smile crossed over the face of his superior to his surprise. "Quite the reverse, I feel myself being unable to avoid welcoming such a resolute young man."

"I didn't want to presume your authority," Hellstrom answered quietly.

"Well, Dieter, my boy- I may call you Dieter, may I?"

The young Sturmbannführer realized only now how close Landa stood to him as he could feel the older man's hot breath on his cheek. Like at his first courtesy visit a few days ago, he felt his legs become weak. Dieter just nodded because he was unable to give his voice a proper pitch.

"Wonderful, my boy," the Standartenführer smiled satisfied, as he let his hand wander to Hellstrom's neck to bend his head slightly forward. Dieter shivered as his forehead touched his superior's and he looked deeply into his sparkling dark eyes, almost like an abyss. "Are you afraid, Dieter?" Landa whispered all of a sudden, and laid his hand on Hellstrom's chest at the same time.

"Yes," Dieter returned faster, completely unaware of his answer, but he knew at the same time that it was the truth. He felt Landa's chest vibrating as he chuckled while Dieter blushed again in embarrassment, asking himself desperately what the hell was going on with him. He was just making a fool out of himself, he thought.

So Hellstrom breathed a sigh of relief as Landa finally took his hand away. At the same time, however, a strange feeling spread around him as if his body was missing the presence of the other man. As Dieter raised his gaze he recognized his superior watching him intensively. A deeply enigmatic smile spread over Landa's face, making him almost look like a sly fox. "Well, then we should do something about that little problem, shouldn't we?"


	3. Desire

_**Welcome back to the third chapter!**_

_I'm deeply sorry that it was taking such a long time until I updated, school is such a pain at the moment. Anyways, I want to thank all of you who was so kind to leave a review and/or added this story to their favourite lists and alerts. It'd makes me truly happy to know what you're thinking about this chapter. Every review will be answered I insure._

_My highest gratitude to LittleXMissXFatale for being my beta reader again!_

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters of the Inglourious-Basterds-Universe are copyrighted to Quentin Tarantino. All other characters are copyright to me._

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><p>His fingers were jittery as he tried to loosen his tie and shirt collar before taking a sip of his Scotch. Never for the world did Dieter want to show how nervous he really was behind his cool façade, especially not in Landa's presence. The alcohol burnt his throat and he couldn't suppress a cough.<p>

"Well, my boy," Landa chuckled, "we aren't nervous, are we?"

Hellstrom cleared his throat before he shook his head. After all, he could hardly confess to his superior that he was indeed nervous and the reason for this agitation was coming from him of all people. Dieter's gaze wandered through the room in order not to look at Landa. Both men were sitting at a comfortable corner table from which you had a good view of the stage as well as the large bar. The chanson of the chanteuse was almost lost as some slightly drunk German officers were all bawling the refrain of the song before turning back to their glasses and the women in their arms. One of them was giggling shrilly as a younger officer pulled down the straps of her transparent little dress with rough, uncoordinated movement before he immersed his face into her breasts. She was wriggling a bit, only acting as if she would resist against the man before she bent forward, whispering something into the ear of her fiery conqueror. He nodded with a grin as he pulled her up before both disappeared through the small door beside the bar.

Dieter looked after them, clearing his throat. The kind of bar he was in now wasn't unfamiliar to him. Numerous places of these pleasure pubs - a mixture of variety, bar and brothel - existed the Eastern as well as in the West protectorates, and of course it wasn't Dieter's first visit to such an establishment, the broads there were cheap and willing and first of all they were clean, you didn't run the risk of catching something infectious from those whores; besides these women here were much more professional than those pitiful figures on the prostitutes' patch, driven by pure poverty.

"Have you already had the pleasure of visiting such an establishment?" his superior dug deeper, not letting him out of his sight.

"Err well . . ." Hellstrom replied hesitantly. "Once or twice in Berlin, Warsaw and Kiev but not here in France."

"Ah, my dear boy, then there you've missed something," Landa advised him, winking. "You know what they always say about the French dames and demoiselles: They are astoundingly skilled in the arts of love."

Hellstrom nodded shortly again, but began to feel poorly. Once again he threw a brief gaze sideways in direction to his superior who, however, was showing more interest in the young chanteuse at the moment. As inconspicuously as possible, Dieter was finally able to loosen his tie and shirt collar. He felt hot, but it seemed as if these hot flushes didn't come from the frankly presented naked skin of the whores here, from the well-rounded décolletage, the long delicate legs and feminine curves.

Dieter breathed in deeply, perceiving Landa's aftershave through the different heavy and disgustingly sweet perfumes of the whores. It smelled tangy and male, exactly like the smell of his leather boots. Hellstrom bent slightly forward. Landa's boots were freshly polished and fitted perfectly into the general picture of the Standartenführer. They emphasized the aura of the power and authority which surrounded Landa, giving him a greatness Dieter couldn't put into words. The boots were the symbol of power and rule, they strengthened the strong step of the master race during their triumph and grinded those unpatriotic Bolshevists and Jewish pests into the ground like vermin. Just the sound of clicking heels made those enemies of the state shivering when the master race advanced in rank and file, full of burning enthusiasm and with the Führer's slogan of salvation upon their lips.

Dieter was dizzy, partly from the heavy intoxicating musk perfumes of the whores, partly overwhelmed from his own fantasies of the power. The sudden urge to let himself fall to his knees in front of Landa and to kiss his boots came over him. To pay tribute to the power Landa was personifying. Hellstrom closed his eyes, leaning back and breathing in as much as possible of the scent of the warm leather. Dieter imagined his hands - his slender hands which his father had always ridiculed him for - stroking down the leg of the boots, over and over again; he imagined himself carefully rubbing his nose against the leather, drowning its smell; he imagined himself kissing the boots deferentially, letting his tongue shyly slide over the leather to get a taste of the power they were standing for.

"Ah, Bonsoir, Monsieur le Colonel." Dieter was pulled back into reality. He started up rudely, pouring his Scotch over himself. A clear female laugh and a deep male chuckling sounded. The young chanteuse, who had bewitched the men with her chansons before, had come over here, taking a seat directly onto his lap, still giggling. Dieter felt his cheeks blush as the Standartenführer grinned as well. Exactly like before in the evening, he was both embarrassed and angry at himself. _'Silly goose,' _he thought furiously as the broad still laughed. He quickly turned aside to straighten his shirt and suit. At least the Scotch didn't stain.

"Qui est-ce que vous avez ramené?" the young whore turned towards Landa who was gazing intensively at Dieter.

"Un jeune collègue de Berlin. Il est arrivé nouvellement ici et n'est pas familiarisé avec les dames françaises," he replied with a charming smile.

"C'est vrai? Mais il est un beau garçon, ne pas?" The young blond whore turned back to Hellstrom, regarding him with her deep blue eyes before bending forward. "Alors, pourquoi si morose? N'avez pas envie de s'amuser avec moi?" she purred into his ear before letting her tongue slide over his earlobe in a mocking manner.

Feeling insecure and without any idea of what the broad was talking about, Dieter pushed her gently aside. "Excusez-moi, Madame," he uttered with his heavy German accent as he lowered his gaze.

"But my dear boy, you won't spurn an offer from such a lovely lady, will you?" Landa asked with raised eyebrows, grinning slyly.

"Err . . ." Dieter cleared his throat, searching for an excuse. "Well, I feel rather exhausted, Standartenführer. The last days had been quite busy," he stammered.

"In other words: You aren't in the mood to amuse yourself with this lady, are you?" Landa replied with a lurking undertone. His dark eyes had become sharper as he regarded Dieter. He slightly bent forward in order to get closer to the young man beside him. "I find it quite odd that you aren't drawn by all those beauties here, my boy," he whispered.

Dieter swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Standartenführer?" he asked nervously.

"Well, you surely know about those certain men who aren't interested in the fairer sex, but have some . . . degenerated cravings for their own sex." Landa's eyes were sparkling dangerously now. "And you," he continue whispering, "As an officer of the Gestapo know exactly what happens to such degenerated men, don't you?"

Dieter nodded quickly, but started to feel sick. He wasn't one of those degenerated men, one of those _Volksschädlingen_, no, no, he wasn't! But the lump in his throat was growing, cutting off his air supply.

"So, Dieter, don't be that reserved and enjoy your time with this lovely demoiselle," Landa nodded then, hardly able to hide a crooked grin.

The young whore rose from her seat and took hold of Dieter's hand. "Venez," she whispered to him.

Dieter took a deep breath before he arose from his chair. Landa's eyes were sparkling with a dark fire, giving him the creeps. His legs felt weak as he followed the young whore past the large bar through a small entry and upstairs into the second floor. "Si nerveux?" she asked, looking surprised at him as she opened one of the numerous doors and pulled him into the room.

Dieter didn't give her an answer; instead he was looking around the room. The exquisite furnishings with dark shining furniture, the heavy deep-red velvet and the shimmering silk cover of the bed were showing clearly the luxury and high standard of this house.

He felt the young whore gently touching his cheek in order to make him look at her. _'What a young girl,' _crossed his mind suddenly. She seemed ways too young to him to work in such a metier, and now he definitely didn't want to have any kind of sexual contact to her.

The young whore, however, was looking confused about his reserved expression. Perhaps she was expecting him to mount her immediately, hardly able to control himself? She stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to make to first move, but as Dieter didn't move, she gently let her hands stroke over his chest and then move down to his lap. He gasped and pulled her hands away. "Non . . . ne pas," he stammered.

"Pourquoi pas? Tous l'hommes aiment ça," she replied, looking at him in surprise.

"I . . . I don't want . . . je ne pas vouloir . . ." Dieter replied, searching desperately for the few words of the French language he knew in the back of his mind, and gesticulated helplessly with his hands.

He turned his head aside as the door closed quietly, but clearly audible. Dieter hadn't noticed Landa following them and now was taking a seat on an oversized armchair. He crossed his legs, making himself comfortable while he symbolized Hellstrom and the young whore to continue. "Ne faites pas attention à lui," she mumbled, laying her arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a passionate kiss.

Dieter, however, was almost choking at the taste of her lips and tongue, it was like an ashtray, cheap and used, just what a whore was. He pushed her away from him once more, now less gently than before, but stopped as he met his superior's gaze. Landa's words came back to his mind, and at the same time he couldn't help but being divided between fearing him and having this strange feeling of desire in the Standartenführer's presence.

Landa was regarding him for one more moment before showing a both charming and dangerous smile. "Enjoy it, my boy," he smirked, leaning back in a relaxing manner.

Dieter swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Yes, Standartenführer," he mumbled with a broken voice and lowered his eyes.

He felt the young whore's soft hand stroke over his cheek before she pulled him into a kiss once more, letting her lips crush against his, mocking him with her tongue. Dieter had closed his eyes in order to let this go by quickly. He couldn't remember a situation where he had been less attracted to a woman before, but at the same time he couldn't say what exactly did repel him. She fitted perfectly into his prey schema, and was personifying exactly what he preferred: A young age, long blonde hair, blue eyes, soft pale skin, and a slim and petite body. So why did he strangely not feel attracted to her? Oh, of course his body was responding to her numerous temptations, but there was something missing. Some key point in his psyche remained untouched like so often lately.

In meanwhile, the young whore had begun to open the buttons of his uniform jacket and shirt. A soft sound escaped Dieter's lips as she revealed his bare skin, kissing her way over his chest down to his abdomen. "Qu'est-ce que j'ai dit? Tôt ou tard, chaque homme ne peux pas dérober à les charmes d'une femme," the whore whispered and giggled loudly, gently stroking the swelling at this crotch.

Dieter moaned quietly, the carnal pleasure running through his body was too powerful to hold back. He couldn't deny that she knew her job. A sequence of soft whimpering escaped him as her grip tightened up around his erection in his trousers. A triumphant smile appeared on her face before she started to undo the straps of her light dress. The silky fabric slid slowly down, unveiling her small yet well-formed breasts. He sighed at the nice view. The young whore gave him a wink before she reached for his belt to undo his trousers.

A sigh of relief came from his lips as she freed his erection, starting to lick teasingly along his shaft and suck at the head of his member. Dieter moaned again in both desperation and the painful need for satisfying the burning lust in his loins. She seemed to know full well of what his body was longing for and so she took his swollen erection into her mouth and then deep into her throat. A soft cry came from Dieter, his body was tensing at the overwhelming feeling of pleasure running through his veins. He reached out to grab the whore's long blonde hair, holding her head in position.

Dieter started slightly as the Standartenführer grinned: "Now, my boy, was I promising too much?" Landa chuckled which grew into loud laughter, to Dieter, however, it seemed like a derisive laughter, a derisive laughter about his weakness towards this whore. "Chevauchez-le," he called to the blonde.

The young Sturmbannführer didn't understand what his superior had ordered the woman to do, but it came clear to him when she stopped sucking his hard member and took a seat on his lap. He could feel his erection pressing painfully against the inside of her thighs, he also felt the Standartenführer starring at him in eager anticipation.

His breath caught, his eyes broke for a second as the whore lowered herself on his erection. Oh, how hot and wet she felt, just like he normally wanted to have a woman, but today, in this very moment, he only felt repelled by all that soft female flesh which was so weak and cheap. So much different to a man whose toughened body was an epitome of power and will, strong and unflagging; estimable. Not like women, they were so weak and only worth being used by a man.

A slight ache came through his lower abdomen as the young whore started to slowly ride him. Her body raised and lowered with rhythmical movements, her well-formed breast were gently bobbing up and down. Dieter was torn between being repelled by the body upon him and the agonizing need to reach his climax, finding his relief. He glanced aside once more. Landa's face was indecipherable for him, only his eyes were sparkling darkly and full of expectation. Suddenly, Dieter was longing for his superior touching him, feeling those strong hands wander over his slender body. How glad every girl or woman must be if chosen by the Standartenführer to spend a night with him, to come in touch with his power, to be possessed by him.

Dieter was shocked about his own train of thoughts. Never before had he felt like that. It was a feeling of jealousy towards those broads. They only had to look nice and nothing else to attract his superior's attention unlike him who had to slave himself away in the daily rivalry to become interesting for Landa.

As Dieter couldn't control his desire any longer, he dug his hands deeper into the soft skin of the whore's hips to thrust harder into her. She moaned loudly, moving her hips in order to meet every thrust of him. She truly knew her job, he thought, perfectly acting as if she were aroused as well, deriving pleasure from the act of love. Harder and faster and also more desperate his thrust became until his body finally reached its climax. He moaned so deeply, full of agony before he fell back into the pillars, both exhausted and restless. His body got its satisfaction, but his mind, his senses, were still unsatisfied.

Heavily breathing like him, the young whore cuddled up to his chest, stroking him gently through his tousled hair. Nauseated by her, Dieter pushed her away, making her almost fall off of the mattress. "Clear off, you filthy whore," he panted, eyes closed, feeling dizzy. He ignored the hurt expression of the young woman who was rubbing her forearm. She scrambled to her feet and got dressed quickly.

"Attendez," he heard the Standartenführer's voice. Dieter's gaze was still slightly hazy as he blinked over at his superior. Landa had taken some notes from his wallet, slipping them into the whore's hand.

"Merci, Monsieur le Colonel," she mumbled. She gave Dieter a condescending look before she disappeared.

Silence lowered itself over the room after the whore had left and Dieter suddenly became aware of his bareness. A wave of shame overcame him, so he quickly pulled up his trousers and closed his shirt. His superior said nothing yet, but only regarded him with his dark eyes. Dieter had dressed more or less in no time, feeling both depressed and strangely numb. His fingers were trembling slightly as he adjusted his tie, hesitating then if he was allowed to leave so easily. He felt too ashamed to look Landa in the eyes, so he turned to leave this place of horror.

His heart stopped for a moment as the Standartenführer bent forward to grab his wrist. "Not so fast, Dieter," Landa whispered, pulling back his subordinate. He took hold of the Sturmbannführer's chin, looking deep into the younger man's pale-blue eyes.

Dieter, afraid of what Landa might see there, pushed his hands away. "Let me go," he hissed, both edgy and insecure.

"No," his superior simply replied which took Dieter's breath away. Landa smirked, tilting his head slightly while regarding the younger man in front of him. "No, Dieter, I don't think I'll let you go."

"With all due respect-" Dieter started, trying to sound steadfast. He stopped in order to collect some courage. "Please," he mumbled quietly, almost sounding as if he were close to tears. "What do you want from me?"

"What do I want from you?" Landa repeated with raised eyebrows. Faster than Dieter was able to react, the Standartenführer had taken him by the throat and pressed him against the wall. Everything in Dieter was cramped by both fear and weakness as Landa got closer to his face. "Actually, the real issue would be what do you, my dear boy, want from me?" He took a dramatic rest, making Dieter jittery.

"I . . . I don't know," Dieter mumbled finally.

"You don't know?" The Standartenführer shook his head disapprovingly before grabbing the younger man's hair abruptly, pulling him even closer to him. "Yes, Dieter, you know, you know perfectly well!" And before Dieter was able to react, Landa had taken hold of his chin and pressed his lips upon the younger man's.

Dieter froze immediately, falling into a state of shock. He simply stood there, feeling Landa's lips moving against his. It was different to everything he had ever experienced before, so much different to the soft kisses of the broads. This here was rougher, but not less attractive and with a shock he noticed how much pleasure was in this kiss. There was a different attraction, coming through his body like a wave now, stimulating those parts of his mind which had been untouched by the body of the young whore. Dieter couldn't keep his temper and returned the kiss as hard as possible. It seemed to be the decent thing to him in this very moment. He would've almost lost himself in this kiss if Landa's chuckle hadn't pulled him back into reality.

His superior's eyes were sparkling with self-satisfaction and triumph, like a stalking predator that had small blood, making Dieter become clear of what had just now happened. "Oh my God . . ." came silently from his lips as he covered his mouth with his hands. He was trying hard to suppress the rising nausea. Full of panic, he pushed Landa away from him, and ran out of the room and building. His steps were brisk as he was walking home to the hotel he was staying at, still unable to shake off what he had just experienced.

Arriving in his hotel room, he stormed without hesitation into his bathroom, vomiting into the toilet until a mixture of bile acid dripped from the corner of his mouth. Completely exhausted, he went down onto the cold tiles and shook like a leaf. First after some hours he found the strength to overcome his inner blockade and dragged himself to his bed where he immediately collapsed, falling into the pillows like a dead man.


	4. Desperation

_**Welcome back to the fourth chapter!**_

_Finally I'm able to upload another new chapter. It's rather short this time, but I hope you'll enjoy it. Reviews are always welcomed and I'd like to hear your opinion. I yet want to thank all of you for adding this story to their favourite list/alerts._

_My highest gratitude to LittleXMissXFatale for being my beta reader again!_

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters of the Inglourious-Basterds-Universe are copyrighted to Quentin Tarantino. All other characters are copyright to me._

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><p>Rolling back and forth, the young Sturmbannführer was unable to sleep. It was close to midnight, but his guilty conscience was preventing him from settling down. Waking up in the morning after a night full of bizarre dreams, Hellstrom had grabbed the telephone receiver, dialling the number of his workplace. He was feeling ill, he said, nothing serious, tomorrow he should be back on his legs again. After finishing this matter, he sank back into his bed.<p>

He had spent the whole day there, brooding and full of inner conflict and self-doubts. Temporarily, he asked himself if yesterday evening had truly happened or if he was only imagining it. Had Landa really been there when he and the whore were busy with each other? Had he really watched them have sex? And especially afterwards: Had what Dieter deeply fears for truly happen? Had he and Landa truly . . . kissed? Remembering this, Hellstrom was shivering with dismay. This was impossible, this couldn't be true, after all there was nothing more perverted than two men who . . .

Sitting up, Dieter breathed deeply to calm himself down. Damn it, what was wrong with him? How could he, a loyal and proud National Socialist, have such degenerated thoughts? Never could he remember feeling so attracted to a person before, neither a woman nor a man. Of course, it never crossed his mind to assess a man with regard on his attractiveness. A man didn't need to be attractive, the exact opposite to a woman. The broads weren't that useful, even enough to fulfil the wishes and needs of men. A woman should only open her mouth to satisfy a man's desire; otherwise she should shut up and do what she is told. A man, however . . . a man was made to rule the world. The broads were weak and cowardly, but a man was the epitome of rule and power. Considering this, it was understandable why not only the broads were yearning for a man like his superior, Standartenführer Landa, but also why he was showing respect, admiration and even more for him.

Dieter sighed desperately, giving himself a hard knock against his temple. He wanted to make it stop, these terrible thoughts. They weren't only tormenting his mind; they were also tormenting his body as well. He had dozed off again and again during the day, always starting up after a short time, bathed in sweat. He knew why and feared the reason at the same time. He couldn't stop his thoughts wandering back to Landa and no matter how much he despised and even was disgusted at himself for that, his body had always reacted with a feeling of excitement and arousal. In secret, Dieter asked himself what had happened when he weren't fled yesterday evening. He had lost himself in this kiss, in this strange and forbidden kiss, and with both revulsion and arousal he thought about the possibility of what might had happened. Had he and Landa kissed each other again? What if Landa had undone his shirt, letting his hands wander over Dieter's skin and down to his groin? Imagining this, a perverted lust came over him and suddenly he was longing for touching Landa's skin, curious to find out how it'd feel.

Full of desperation, Dieter turned onto the other side. Tomorrow he'd have to meet his superior again, but he doubted he would have enough courage to look Landa in the face. If the Standartenführer only knew what kind of perversities were crossing his mind, what kind of degenerated feelings and emotions he had . . . heaven only knows, as an officer of the Gestapo he knew only too well what happened to such men. _Volksschädlinge_, they were called those who had such perverted relations with other men. Dieter would never have dreamt of ever understanding what those men felt. He felt terribly dirty, like he was contaminated, and there was no remedy. How could this be? He was a National Socialist, a member of the Party, a member of the SS, so how could he end up on the same level as those abnormal men, like those . . . homosexuals? Dieter wiped away the sweat on his forehead, breathing heavily. But what else was homosexuality than the result of the bad genotypes, even increased by an education in those weak pacifist and democratic ideals? Yes, everything that turned a boy into a wimp instead into a real, strong man. But his education had been different; his father had been rough and hard on him, not hesitating to give his son a good thrashing - even when his son didn't get up to nonsense.

So what was with him? What was going on? Was it a bizarre admiration of the power and authority that Landa was exuding perhaps? The complete devotion with body and soul like the Party was demanding over and over again? Dieter closed his eyes, desperately trying to sleep, being finally released from his weird thoughts. At the same time, he became ill while feeling how much his body was burning, burning with lust and need by the imagination of immoral acts between him and his superior. Dieter was so nauseated by himself that he almost vomited.

Anyways, as he couldn't bear the tormenting pressure in his loin, he let his hand wander down into the trousers of his pyjamas, taking hold of his erection. He started rubbing it, slowly and deliberately at first, but the movements of his hand got quicker and faster. Dieter buried his face into the pillow, moaning softly. He hardly knew when his desire had been so intense that he needed to satisfy himself immediately. He normally was pleased with the broads; there were enough whores and sluts being doubtlessly impressed by his uniform. There had never been a lack of women in his bed.

Dieter's groaning got louder and deeper the faster his hand moved, incessantly thinking of the Standartenführer, thinking of this impressive and proud appearance in his perfectly fitting uniform. He was especially taken with the heavy black boots, and exactly like yesterday evening he was licking and kissing the leather in his mind, sighing with pleasure. He also thought of Landa's unmistakable features, as well as he had already noticed the grey hair at his superior's temples and the fine wrinkles around the corners of his mouth and eyes. Dieter doubted a young man could ever have this special charisma; no, you needed experience and a certain age for that.

Beads of sweat were running down from his forehand and between his shoulder blades. His body was burning and he felt himself coming closer to his climax. In order to muffle his loud moans, he bit down into the pillow, unable to bear hearing the noise of his lust. It was the gruel infidelity to everything Dieter had ever believed in. It was dragging everything through the mud that was sacred to him. It was the requiem for his ideology.

Nevertheless, his hand was moving rhythmically and fast while he lost himself in a maelstrom of tormenting feelings of guilt about his shameful betrayal of his ideology and abomination of himself, but at the same time it was simply wonderful to satisfy his need while imagining all these perverted things. His breathing got heavier and heavier and his eyes broke for a moment as he finally reached his climax with a sharp cry. Dieter felt completely freed and relaxed for some seconds, no thoughts, and no tormenting feelings of guilt. There wasn't anything but peace, exactly like he had longed for.

Heavily gasping for air, he sank back onto the bed, burying himself into the pillows and ignoring the sticky wetness on his inner thighs. His gaze was empty as he raised his head, looking directly at his uniform hanging neatly over a chair in order not to crumple it. The agonizing lust was satisfied now, but the terrible feeling of shame came back all the more. There, no five feet away, was his uniform, his all and everything. He only had the uniform as an expression of his beliefs, and now he had desecrated it with his actions. Yes, he had desecrated his uniform with his perverted behaviour. Dieter didn't dare to rise up and touch the black fabric. He wasn't worth being called a SS man any longer. He had banished himself from the spirit of the _Schutzstaffel_.

Becoming clear of that, Dieter couldn't help but sob. He buried his face in the pillow again, whimpering like a hurt animal while tears were dropping down his face. He was crying full of agony, just like the little boy he once was, after being beaten up by his drunken father. Suddenly, he felt as lonely as never before in his entire life. Never was something left from his numerous female acquaintances, not because the women had left him, no. Only now he wised up to that fact that he had been the one turning tail as soon as there were tender feelings of affection. Now he had to pay for that with loneliness. How painful this just was . . .

Tears were still running down his cheeks as the young Sturmbannführer was sliding into a restless sleep full of grotesque dreams where his red swastika armband was strangling him to death due to his infidelity to the National Socialism, provided by Landa's voice whispering his name in the background.


	5. Longing

_**Welcome to the fifth chapter!**_

_I want to deeply apologize that it took so long until I finished this chapter. Again I'd like to thank all of you who was so kind to leave a review or add the story to their favourite lists/alerts._

_My highest gratitude to LittleXMissXFatale for being my beta reader again!_

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters of the Inglourious-Basterds-Universe are copyrighted to Quentin Tarantino. All other characters are copyright to me._

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><p>The Standartenführer was immersed in the latest deportation lists as the big black telephone on his desk started ringing. He picked the receiver up. "Standartenführer, Sturmbannführer Hellstrom has arrived," said the young man from the reception downstairs.<p>

"Excellent, Herman. Send him upstairs," Landa answered, unable to hide a grin. Self-satisfied, he hung up and made himself comfortable in his oversized leather chair. Hans couldn't deny that he was rather curious about how his younger colleague would behave towards him. He had heard with amusement yesterday morning that Hellstrom called in sick. He felt poorly, was his reason, and Landa believed every word. In secret, he had already considered something like that after the turbulent evening they had spent together.

The young Sturmbannführer had reacted exactly the way Hans expected, although he wasn't certain about what his younger colleague was more appalled about. Was it the advances of his superior or about the fact that he had responded to his kiss so fiercely and full of passion? Even now, Hans had to grin, remembering this moment. Did Hellstrom truly believe his gazes had escaped Landa? These longing gazes, full of yearning and admiration? It had been so easy to read the Sturmbannführer's mind.

How proud the young man had appeared at the beginning, just like the ideal form of the master race the Party was propagating. And how quickly his self-confidence melted when Landa had only taken a familiar tone with him. Hellstrom was the classic breed of people the Party could use, obedient and almost desperate for acceptance, intelligent but unable to see further than the end of his ideology, simply born to serve. A classic subject, falling to his knees in front of the power, both shivering and longing.

On the other hand, Landa had to admit that this young man held a particular attraction. Hans thought about Hellstrom's unusually beautiful face with those delicate features and the pale soft skin, almost like a girl's. Plus his slender figure and those big blue eyes which made him look boyish and innocent. Landa hadn't only started this little game after recognizing Hellstrom's nature, his propensity for adoration of power and self-abasement, no. It was a feeling of desire he hadn't felt in a long time.

Hans remembered himself well in the role of his young colleague: A seventeen-year-old boy just joining the Austro-Hungarian army during the Great War, finding himself sent to the endless trenches on the Western front. How much he had adored his captain, how much he had idolized him, similar to the Sturmbannführer who adored him now, and Landa understood why. That captain was the personification of everything Hans had dreamt of, the personification of power, authority and strength. How he had longed at that time to come in touch with this power and how incredibly proud he was when the captain had recognized him. And one evening then, after weeks of being worried and torn, the captain had appointed him to his barrack room. The world of bourgeoisie would have termed those happenings as disgusting and perverted, as a kind of mental disturbance without any idea of how life was in the armed forces, in this world of men. After all, there wasn't much to it when crawling through the trenches day after day, crippling the enemies, burning their lungs and eyes with poisonous gas or blowing them up into thousands of bloody pieces with shells.

The Standartenführer sighed slightly. It was already decades since those events, passed for a long time, but as present as never before. Again there was war, if not more dreadful than the last one. Bloody and brutal, yet not pointless. Mankind was like a bacterium, multiplying in good time as long until space and food were exhausted and it was time to die. How useful those great wars were with all its unnecessary ballast of mankind which could get annihilated and therefore the cycle of life started again.

A quiet, almost shy knocking interrupted Landa's thoughts. A sly grin appeared on his face when he called: "Enter". His guilty expression told Landa that Hellstrom had doubtlessly thought of him. Self-satisfied, he leant back, looking forward to a new little game.

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><p>Dieter swallowed hard as the watchful dark eyes of his superior met his. He quickly avoided them because what was that saying? The eyes are the mirror of the soul? There was nothing he needed less at the moment, anyways Landa seemed to able to read his mind easily. How afraid Dieter had been when he entered the SS-headquarters and was surprised that the Standartenführer wanted to see him immediately. A wave of fear had come through his body. Was this the end now? Was a charge expecting him because of his abnormal behaviour the evening before last? Had the visit of this house of pleasure even been a test perhaps? If so, he had failed miserably. Dieter knew there were enough spies of the SD in the SS, watching closely the behaviour of the men, the kind of women they associated with or if they preferred to focus their eyes on their colleagues. The latter would be the sure order to take in protective custody, the euphemistic expression for being sent a concentration camp.<p>

Shaking with fear, Dieter had made his way upstairs. He had to breathe in deeply a few times to get ready to knock on the door of his superior's office. He wished to take his heels, simply running off, but managed to control his fear and stepped in. And now Landa was sitting opposite him, gazing at him like a predator. His nerves were all tensed up.

"You . . . you wanted to talk to me, Standartenführer?" Dieter asked nervously, taking off his cap.

"Indeed, my boy," Landa replied. "But not here at the desk, have a seat there." He gesticulated towards the seating corner with an oval low table and comfortable-looking armchairs. "After all, the nature of the matter I have to talk about with you is more . . ." he made a short break to emphasize his words, "personal."

Dieter, just making a move to sit down onto an armchair, started slightly, twisting his neck looking around at Landa. A sly grin played around the corner of his mouth, eyes sparkling with perverse delight before his superior turned around to take out two glasses and a bottle of cognac from a glass cabinet. Dieter started to sweat; his heart was pounding in fear when Landa took a seat next to him, pouring them a drink.

"Now, my boy," Landa started, putting down a glass in front of his young colleague and making himself comfortable. "I heard that you didn't feel well yesterday."

"Well, yes . . ." Dieter answered hesitantly. "The Scotch probably disagreed with me."

"Did it?" Landa chuckled before bending forward. "I, however, think there was another reason for your nausea," he added, regarding him with a steel gaze. Dieter felt his throat becoming hoarse and the palm of his hands covered in cold sweat. _'That's it, now you're history,'_ rushed through his mind.

"Look at me, Dieter," Landa ordered.

Hellstrom was almost trembling now when he raised his gaze in order to look his superior in the face. Dieter was sure he knew it. The Standartenführer nodded slowly and self-satisfied when he observed his colleague. "So young," Landa mumbled, stroking Hellstrom's cheek. Dieter's burned-out body and mind reacted immediately, a longing sigh escaped his lips. "So successful," he continued, carefully touching the medals on Hellstrom's uniform jacket. Landa grinned again, tilting his head to whisper into Dieter's ear: "You're on a razor edge, my dear boy."

Desperately, Hellstrom closed his eyes, burying his face into his hands. "I don't want that," he mumbled.

"Don't dare to lie to me," his superior snapped at him. Starting slightly again, Dieter wanted to slid away from him, but Landa had already grabbed him roughly by his hair. He moaned in pain, but a hot shiver of excitement flashed through his body at the same time when the Standartenführer came even closer. "After all, I know very well what kind of thoughts and longings you have. You want it, you're obsessed by the wish to come in touch with the power I'm personifying. You're pining for getting one with me, aren't you?"

When Hellstrom returned nothing, Landa tore at his hair, made him gasp with pain once more. "Yes, yes!" Dieter almost cried out.

His superior nodded satisfied, strengthening his grip on Hellstrom's hair. Dieter gasped in pain again, a single tear ran down his cheek. He flinched when Landa raised his hand, expecting a slap in the face. Instead the Standartenführer wiped away the tear. Hellstrom tried to suppress a soft whimpering arising in his throat. "Tell me, Dieter," Landa continued, "what were you thinking about when you watched me so closely the evening before last? What went through your mind?"

"How . . . how wonderful your . . . your boots are," Dieter answered quietly.

"My boots?" Landa repeated sincerely astonished. "And then?" he dug deeper, full of impatience.

"I . . . I licked your boots," Dieter whispered, blushing. Never before had he felt so humiliated.

"And you liked grovelling on all fours in front of me like a dog?" Landa returned, watching the younger man sharply.

"Yes," Dieter whimpered.

Sharp pain flashed through his scalp when his superior pulled him down onto his knees at eye level with Landa's boots.

"Well, than feel free to do what you imagined, by boy." A devilish grin appeared on Landa's face as he leant back, symbolizing Hellstrom to start.

Dieter's breath grew faster; a thin trace of sweat ran down between his shoulder blades. His mind was too dazed by both fear and desire to question the order. The Standartenführer knew about his perverted and abnormal inclination anyway, so why should he hide it? Carefully and full of admiration, he let his slender hands slide down the shaft of the boots. They were perfectly polished like always and emphasized the flawlessness of the Standartenführer's appearance. Dieter gently stroked the smooth leather before placing a shy kiss upon it. He looked up at his superior, but Landa just nodded with a grin, so Dieter continued kissing the leather, yet harder and with more passion this time. Heat welled up in his cheeks and groin, a soft moan escaped his lips. Shyly, he opened his mouth, letting the tip of the tongue slide over the black leather, over and over again, leaving wet trails on the boots. A mixture of leather and polish extended out across his mouth, but Dieter was already stuck in his own obsequious thoughts. He first looked up when his superior moaned softly.

Landa had leant back his head, eyes half closed and regarding Dieter with a smile. His hand had moved down to his lap in meanwhile, stroking over the bulge in his trousers. "Continue," Landa ordered with a hoarse voice.

Seeing how passion had overpowered his superior as well, Dieter moaned softly again before he turned back to the boots. He licked them faster and more violently, even trying to bite into the fabric, but it was too hard and inflexible. Instead he started sucking at the leather. He heard Landa moaning again, deep and full of desire. His chin was gently pulled up to meet the elder man's eyes which were hard like steel. "I think that's enough for the moment," he whispered. His left hand was still holding Dieter's chin while he slowly opened his belt and trousers. "You seem to have a remarkable flair for things like that, so it'd be pity to only pay attention to my boots, wouldn't it?" Landa said with a clearly husky voice. "I'm convinced that you'll do a good job," he added when Dieter gasped with a start, becoming aware of what Landa wanted him to do. "A very good job, to be exact," Landa chuckled.

"Standartenführer, I-" Dieter whispered deeply insecure, but his superior simply laid a finger over his lips.

"Shhh, my boy," he interrupted the younger man. "It's all right."

If Dieter had been in his right mind, he had surely wondered what should be all right in doing this kind of act, but now, driven by his desire and in the grip of passion, he didn't question it. It felt like a door had opened into a forbidden realm, condemned by the normal bourgeois world without ever tasting the sweet fruits of sin. Both fear and desire, the elements Dieter's dreams and feelings were made of, overpowered him when he bent forward, mouth slightly opened, eyes glassy and half closed, and let his lips gently touch the tip of Landa's erection. He trembled with burning yearning as he heard his superior moan deeply and full of need, and all the more he was spurred to satisfy the Standartenführer.

Gently, Dieter let the hard member slid between his lips, just like the numerous broads did to him several times before, yet carefully and uncertainly at the beginning, but when Landa moaned deeply again, he got more self-confident. He opened his mouth a little more, moaning silently. Exactly like the evening before last while both men had kissed each other, everything that he was doing at this very moment seemed right to Dieter. Were they not soldiers in their hearts of hearts, both of them, and so living in their world women didn't belong to? The world of the army was through and through male; this was the place where men came closest to each other, being comrades, united in mind and soul as well in celebrating, in drinking, in fighting, in dying. Only the one aspect of physical needs the hypocritical bourgeoisie condemned should be omitted. Why? Was a man not united with his brother in arms in the same way like a newly married couple of man and women, in both living and death? Was there really such a large difference?

Thoughts like that Dieter had never imagined crossed his mind. He tried to wipe them away when he felt the grip of Landa's hand in his hair grew stronger and he started to slowly thrust into his mouth. Hellstrom choked, trying to push himself away from his superior, hardly able to breathe, but the elder man was too strong. The thrusts got harder and faster, salvia was running over Dieter's chin as he couldn't swallow. Just as he thought he wouldn't be able to breathe any more, Landa moaned one last time before his semen flooded Dieter's throat. The Sturmbannführer chocked desperately, heavily panting when Landa let his dark hair go and the young man sank to the floor, trembling.

"Good boy . . ." Landa breathed, stroking gently over Dieter's tousled hair who looked up, dazed and exhausted, and a shy smile, rather belonging to a little boy than to an adult man, crossed his face. The Standartenführer reached into the pockets of his uniform and pulled out a sparkling white handkerchief to remove carefully the traces of salvia and semen on Dieter's chin. The young man sighed, pressing his forehead against Landa's thigh when the elder man gently stroked over his slightly reddened cheeks. He floated in bliss at this moment, for he had finally come close to the very person he was admiring, worshipping, yes, almost loving. He first felt pulled back into reality when Landa raised his chin and grinned slyly. "What a good whore you are, my dear boy. Your colleagues of the Gestapo would surely be interested in that . . ." he whispered.

As Dieter looked up at his superior motionlessly, he got a hard punch in his temple. Hitting by it completely unprepared, he toppled onto the floor. His head knocked hard against the marble slab of the table, making him moan in pain. In the meanwhile Landa had arisen, pulled up his trousers and walked with a self-satisfied smile over to his desk. Dieter had just gotten up, his eyes watering, his head pounding painfully when he saw his superior reaching out for the telephone. Fear fluted within seconds his whole body, suppressing every still existing feeling of happiness. "Please . . ." he whimpered quietly, "please . . ."

"Please what, my boy?" the Standartenführer warbled, grinning more sadistically than ever.

"Please . . . don't send me to . . . to a camp . . ." The young Sturmbannführer began to sob.

Landa just opened his mouth to reply as someone was obviously answering the phone. "Ah Herman, finally! Send a car over here immediately to bring Sturmbannführer Hellstrom to his hotel to pack some clothes. It's urgent." After hanging up, he regarded Dieter motionlessly who had slowly became aware that none of his pleading had fallen on fertile ground.

Overpowered by his fear, he had started to rock forwards and backwards. He didn't notice that the Standartenführer was walking over to him and taking a seat on the sofa. "My dear boy, is something wrong?" Landa asked, acting the innocent.

Dieter gave no answer; instead he laid his forehead on the velvet upholstery, unable to stop the tears running down his cheeks. The Standartenführer gently stroked over his dark hair. "Dieter," Landa said again, now considerably impatient and rose up his chin. The young man was unable to hold his superior's gaze, lowering his eyes immediately. "No," Landa whispered, "look at me."

Dieter's heart was almost in his mouth when he met the Standartenführer's glance. Like so often he had the strange feeling to drown in Landa's dark eyes. Both agonizing yearning and fear burnt within him as the elder man wiped the tears away. "Drink," he commanded, offering him a glass of cognac.

Dieter downed it in one gulp, enjoying the sharpness of the alcohol. Landa nodded satisfied, rising up. "Come, Sturmbannführer, there are some files I'd like to give you." He beckoned Dieter to his desk.

Now completely confused, the young man arose from the floor. His legs felt still weak as he stepped next to his superior, taking the files Landa held out for him.

"I'd like you to take the train to Lyon later his evening. Tickets and marching orders are deposit. The number of assaults on German patrols is steadily increasing lately in which the soldiers are losing their scalps without exception," Landa explained to him with a serious look.

"You . . . you haven't . . ." Dieter started hesitating, but fell silent then when his superior grinned mischievously.

"I have no idea what I should report," the elder man replied self-satisfied. "Look, my boy," he said with confidentiality, laying an arm around Dieter's shoulders, "what today as well as the evening before last happened isn't inconsistent with the oath you have sworn. How does your oath go, SS man?"

"My honour is my loyalty," Dieter whispered, feeling deeply humiliated.

"That's it," Landa whispered with a nod, pulling the younger man closer to him. "And I don't know in what way you committed a break of your oath. Quite the reverse, didn't I request you to continue? In certain respects you kept your oath, after all you acted upon my instructions, didn't you?"

Landa chuckled as Dieter regarded him in bewilderment. He indeed had no idea what to reply. Before he could form an idea, his superior gave him a slap on his shoulder, continuing: "Besides I think the days abroad from Paris will suit you, time to take your mind off things." While speaking, he stroked Dieter's cheek.

First the jarring ring of the telephone pulled both men roughly back into reality. "Yes, Herman?" Landa asked as he picked up the receiver.

"The car for the Sturmbannführer has arrived," said the voice of a young man.

"Excellent, he's on his way," Landa answered, hanging up. He nodded invitingly towards Dieter who, however, hesitated. "Something else, my boy?" he asked.

The young Sturmbannführer shook his head. "Thank you," he suddenly said. No more words were necessary to explain what he meant with that.

Landa, however, chuckled. "Thank you?" he repeated amused. "My dear boy, my dear stupid boy, rather wait if you're truly grateful to me." A dark, delightful sparkling arose in Landa's eyes as he regarded the younger man. "Heil Hitler, Sturmbannführer."

"Heil Hitler, Standartenführer," Dieter replied, clicking his heels together and wondering both desperately and full of expectant delight what ideas his superior kept in mind.


	6. Memories

_**Welcome back to the sixth chapter!**_

_Now finally I'm able to present you a new chapter. I'd like to deeply apologize for keeping you waiting for so long, I was (among other things) on holidays in New Zealand (having never seen such a beautiful country before), but now I'd like to thank all of you who has been so kind to leave a review! You will recognize that this chapter may be sort of stand out of the whole context of the story, but I liked the idea of giving an insight into Hellstrom's past and maybe also an explanation why he has a problematic relationship towards women._

_My highest gratitude to LittleXMissXFatale for being my beta reader again! I own you so much!_

_**Disclaimer:**__ All characters of the Inglourious-Basterds-Universe are copyrighted to Quentin Tarantino. All other characters are copyright to me._

* * *

><p>Dieter's gaze was empty as he leant his head against the window, staring out at the setting sunlight. He closed his eyes exhaustedly, rubbing his temples. His stay in Lyon had delayed the whole week, contrary to his expectations, but he was satisfied. A week ago as he took the train to Lyon, he had been full of doubts if the cooperation with the authorities of Vichy would be successful; however, his briefcase was now full of information about this Jewish-American group of soldiers, <em>The Basterds<em> or whatever they were called, who were plying their dreadful trade in France. Dieter was sure that his superior would use this information wisely and thoughtfully. His superior, Standartenführer Landa . . .

Dieter sighed tiredly. The numerous meetings in the week hadn't exhausted him, it was something else. It was the longing that seized him. He condemned this longing for Paris, this longing for . . . Hans.

In the meanwhile, he had gone over to call his superior by his first name in secret, he couldn't help himself. The wish to be close to Landa had increased in the course of the last week and it seemed to Dieter that this wish had paralyzed him, blocking every different thought. The nights had been a torture and even when he had satisfied his lust with his own hands he was wakeful. First in the cold hours of dawn he found some restless sleep, interrupted by bizarre dreams over and over again, tormenting him with secret fantasies he'd never dare to imagine while awake. Dieter had no idea of what to think when he woke up from these dreams, bathed in sweat; he only knew that his body was always shaking, shaking with desire, with lust, with fear, with disgust and revulsion against himself.

Never had he felt something comparable for a man before; only women had been the objects of his desire until now. How well he remembered the first woman in his life. Yes, it had been a woman, an adult woman, not a stupid little girl.

Dieter loosened up his tie and shirt collar, before he leant back, closing his eyes and sinking into old memories . . .

_The sixteen-year-old Dieter was just also loosening his shirt collar, for he felt hot, hot by suppressed desire and lust he detested so much because he couldn't give himself up to it yet, but was tormented by it, day and night, since he met this woman the first time._

_Quickly, he took a sip of his beer, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. Nobody was taking care of him; nobody was interested in what a young boy like him was doing in this gloomy dive, not even his parents. His mother herself was working in these establishments of the demi-monde every night while his so-called father was drinking away the hard-earned money. There was nobody at home who could control what the adolescent son was doing, if he went to bed on time or hung around in the streets of Berlin._

_Like usual, Dieter hadn't had a special idea of where he wanted to go; however, he was drawn by the dives where the gambling flourished and even more by the women of easy virtue. Seldom did he visit the same dive several times, for he was always searching a particular attraction, the attraction of something new and unknown. All the more he was surprised by himself that he was visiting this dive for the fourth time now. Even at this late hour, the pub was well-attended, mostly by men without employment and without prospects after the Great Depression._

_His gaze wandered over to the woman again who was his obsession for some weeks now. Dieter knew that she was visiting this dive regularly to woo her punter, just like whores even did. Unconsciously, he licked over his lips, gapping at the woman. How beautiful she was, how proud, how tall, how desirable. He recognized her wearing no brassiere under her tight dress and felt the spontaneous arousal flowing through his groin._

_Shortly afterwards she obviously reached an agreement with the man, linking arms with him and giving him a smile when both left the pub. A disgusted expression appeared on Dieter's face, for the punter wasn't particularly attractive with his beer belly and greasy hair. Quickly, he threw some Pfennige on the table before he left the dive to follow the couple. Running after them trough the down-and-out streets of the city, he roughly estimated the sum he had purloin from his father early this evening._

_As inconspicuous as possible he hid himself in the shadows of the building opposite, watching the whore and punter entering one of the numerous old tenement blocks. While impatiently waiting, Dieter lit a cigarette and tried to control his feelings, his burning lust for this broad and his deep revulsion against her. But just this wicked and depraved aura of her had a special effect on him, a strange kind of fascination. How different it was compared to the girls of his school class who were always forming small groups and giggling all the time when a boy passed. No, Dieter wanted no girlfriend, none of these chicks. He hated this overweening sentimentality, the kitsch and the lack of experience of a relationship between two young persons._

_Dieter looked up when the front door opposite opened after around twenty minutes and the fat man came out. His smarmy grin betrayed that he hadn't paid for nothing. Dieter threw his cigarette on the ground, running quickly over the street and managed to be at the weathered front door before it slammed shut. He made his way up to the second floor and rang the doorbell._

_Time passed and Dieter wanted to ring again full of impatience when finally the door opened. The woman in her early thirties stared at him in amazement; she surely couldn't make sense of the appearance of the foreign boy. She only wore a thin dressing gown, her blond hair was tousled and her make-up was smeared; however, she obviously didn't care, for she held a cigarette in her hand, smoking with relish. "Now, young man, watching out for something special?" she teased him as Dieter stared at the shape of her breasts showing under the faded fabric._

_He swallowed against the lump in his throat. "How much?" he asked hoarsely._

_The amused smile of the whore faded before catching herself again, laughing out loudly. "What a cute little boy you are," she giggled. "But now off home with you."_

_Still giggling she turned to close the door, but Dieter was faster. He put his foot in the door, pushing it open. Before the woman was able to react, he pressed her against the wall, kissing her fierily. She tasted used like probably all whores, of cigarettes and alcohol and other men. Only harder and more passionate he kissed her, letting his hands wander over her feminine curves until a slap made him stagger aside._

_Heavily breathing, the whore pulled her dressing gown closer. "How much?" Dieter whispered again._

_"How old are you actually?" the woman replied with a frown, but was unable to hide her curiosity._

_"Eighteen," he lied shamelessly._

_The whore grinned. "And unofficial?"_

_He hesitated for a moment. "Just sixteen," he answered._

_"Then you aren't of age," she said, raising her eyebrows._

_Dieter's smile dropped down. "Why should you care? My money is as good as the fat pig's you fucked earlier."_

_"That's true," she returned slowly, observing him again, recognizing that despite his youth he was the size of an adult man and looked quite smart, smarter than her usual punter. "Follow me," she then said, taking his hand and pulling him along with her._

_Dieter's heart was almost in his mouth when they arrived in the kitchen of her small, dilapidated flat. Everything was poorly furnished and stank of cold cigarette smoke and cheap liquor; a mixture Dieter was too familiar with from his home. Although he thought nothing else would fit that woman. A washtub with hot water stood on the table. "Well, Dearie, that's it: You give me the money and can take me as you please," the woman clarified tersely. "It makes twenty-five Reichsmark, by the way," she added as Dieter pulled out his wallet from his trouser pocket._

_He whistled in acknowledgement. "That's a lot of money."_

_She grinned arrogantly. "I have many qualities after all," she purred before she opened the belt of her dressing gown and exposed her naked body._

_Immediately, Dieter felt the heat rising up in his cheeks and groin as he was stared at her, trying hard not to slaver. "Take a seat," she offered before starting to wash off the sweat and other traces of the other punter._

_Dieter was unable to take his eyes off from her, from her full breasts, from her slim waist and the softly rounded hips and bottom. She recognized his gaze and grinned. "It's your first time, right?" she teased him. "You don't have to answer," she continued before he was able to reply, "your gaze tells me that you have never done it before."_

_"Better pay attention to wash yourself thoroughly between your legs," Dieter returned callously._

_She, however, was unflappable. "What's your name?" she asked._

_He hesitated shortly. "Dieter," he answered simply. "And you? Aimée won't be your real name, will it?"_

_"Of course not, but men do need something special and glamorous," she mumbled while washing herself between her thighs, but raised her eyes then, looking him directly in the face._

_Dieter shivered as he looked into her big blue eyes. No one spoke another word until she reached out for a towel and rubbed herself dry. He construed this as the permission to come finally closer to her, and so he arose from his chair and stepped toward her. He thought spontaneously that she looked much more beautiful without the heavy make-up and suddenly he shrank from touching her. She seemed to sense his awkwardness, so she carefully took his hand and laid them upon her breasts. He broke out in a sweat as he massaged the soft flesh. Dieter bent forward to kiss her, but she evaded his lips. "Sorry, Dearie, but I don't do this," she whispered. "It's not personal," she added as Dieter stared at her both surprised and hurt._

_"If you think so," he answered, kissing her neck instead down to her collar bone. At the same time, he let his hand wander down and slipped shyly between her thighs, stroking gently over the soft hair and flesh there. He moaned again and started to open his trousers, but she smiled and pulled him along toward her bedroom._

_A dim red lamp was burning on the small bedside table, bathing the room in dark shadows. The bed was in a mess, just like the whole room; clothes, combs and make-up laid scattered on the floor. She, however, didn't seem to care of the mess, so Dieter ignored it as well. Both took a seat on the edge of the bed, before she leant herself back so that he could admire her body. He bent carefully forward to stroke her breasts again, only too well aware of his aching arousal. "Do you know how you can make a woman melt away?" she asked all of a sudden after watching his shy, still awkward touches of her body._

_When Dieter shook his head, she blinked, grinning mischievously, and led his hand directly purposefully between her legs. "Do you feel it?" she whispered with a hoarse voice and moaned then softly when the tip of his slender finger stroked over the most sensitive spot of her sex._

_"Yes," he breathed, starting to rub gently over this small bud and unable to hide a grin when the woman moaned again, leaning back and stroking through his dark hair._

_He, however, took her hand and laid it over the swollen bulge in his groin. She smiled in an understanding manner, sitting up and starting to open his belt and trousers. With big eyes and his heart in his mouth, he followed her pulling down his trousers and stroking tenderly over his erection. The sheer lust overpowered him when her hand moved up and down, and he couldn't help but moan deeply. He first opened his eyes when he heard her giggling. She observed him satisfied before she pushed his legs apart and got down on her knees. "You know what's coming now, don't you?" she teased him._

_His cheeks went red by youthful shame; nevertheless he nodded, trembling with excitement. The soft kisses along the inside of his thighs seemed like a torment to him, and he instinctively grabbed her blonde hair when she let her tongue slide over his hard flesh. A soft moan escaped his lips and he breathed heavily, gasping desperately for air. She continued to please him with slow licks and opened her lips then to take him into her mouth. The feeling of her lips and the wet heat around his erection was too much to bear and so he immediately came in her mouth. _

_His eyes broke for a moment, his head fell back and he cried out his climax. Only a few seconds took this feeling of endless joy and delight. Feeling dazed, he laid on the bed so that he didn't recognized the whore raising from her knees, wiping the trails of salvia and semen from her lips when she took a place next to him, and as her clear blue eyes met his, he lowered his gaze, ashamed. She, however, wasn't surprised at all that he reached his climax so fast. Gently, she nudged against the tip of his nose and smiled when she said with a soft voice: "Don't worry, Dearie, we have plenty of time."_

_"So it's wrong that you whores are trying to attend to your punter as fast as possible?" Dieter asked quietly, cuddling up to her warm soft body._

_She tenderly stroked through his dark hair, laying his head on her breasts. "I must admit," she suddenly mumbled, "that you're a rather pleasant punter. If only more of my costumers were like you."_

_Dieter smiled, raising his gaze to look at her, only to detect that although she also smiled she seemed strangely sad and resigned. The same expression laid in her eyes when she was regarding him so that he was unsure of what to reply. He was confused and uncertain by her feelings. "It's alright," she said. "Don't worry about what I say."_

_"Hmm," Dieter mumbled, his face pressed against her breasts, stroking slowly over her body. Carefully, he let his hand slip between her thighs; slowly rubbing over the small bud she had shown him. Soft moans escaped her lips, soft moans of lust she tried to suppress, but failed._

_"Stop it, Dearie," she ordered all of a sudden, pushing his hand away. He observed her both astonished and inquiringly. Her cheeks were slightly reddened and she breathed heavily when she rose up. "Don't do this; it ain't good when you do that."_

_"Why? You like it, don't you?" Dieter returned, pushing her gently down to let his hand slide again between her legs and now he recognized her being wet, and the awareness of him giving an adult woman his love made his body shake with desire. More, he wanted more of her, wanted to touch her, wanted to kiss her, wanted to make love with her! So he let his lips wander over her body, caressing and teasing her nipples, enjoying her deep moans. He wanted to move down over her belly to the sweet treasure between her thighs, but she pulled him back into her arms._

_A sharp stab went through his heart as both - whore and punter – looked at each other in the eyes. Hers weren't cold or numb, neither looking bored nor resigned nor disgusted; they were warm and kind when she regarded him. Slowly, she stroked over his smooth cheek and kissed him to his endless surprise on his mouth. It was no passionate kiss, in fact not more than a brief contact of their lips, but it came through him from the bottom of his heart. A deeply human sound escaped his lips and a small tear dropped down from the corner of his eyes._

_"Everything's alright, my Dearie, everything's alright," the woman whispered, stroking reassuringly over his head._

_Now it was Dieter who kissed her, gently and slowly at first, but soon he got more self-confident and let his tongue enter her mouth. They put on a fiery duel with their tongues in which he let her win. He used the break where both were gasping for air to slip between her legs. She moaned softly but also grinned when she felt his reawakened erection pressing against the inside of her thighs. Dieter moaned as well as she wrapped her legs around his groin. "Feeling excited, Dearie?" she asked._

_"And how," he returned, grinning with embarrassment._

_She replied his smile, nodding encouragingly as he laid his trembling hands around her hips and entered her gently. They moaned in union. "My God . . . my God . . ." Dieter breathed with glassy eyes and an ecstatic smile on his lips._

_"Feels good, eh?" the whore returned with a hoarse voice._

_"Yes, so good," he mumbled, sighting when he carefully moved his groin. Suddenly, he could understand why the adults were making such a big thing out of this._

_"No need to be so careful, Dearie," she gasped underneath him._

_"I . . . I don't want to hurt you," Dieter returned, but lowered his eyes in embarrassment then. He sounded kitschier than he wanted and was afraid of her laughing at him._

_She, however, observed him with astonishment at first, but showed then her sad smile which made his heart almost break. As gently as possible, he stroked over the bruises on her thighs and wrists he had already recognized earlier. "Come to me," she whispered, laying her arms around his shoulders and pressing him against her body._

_Her words and actions encouraged him so that he kissed her again, soft but hungry yet while his thrusts got harder. Almost better than the wonderful feeling of thrusting into her were these soft sounds escaping her full red lips. Her eyes were closed, her head leant back into the pillows while she gave herself to him and instinctively he knew she was truly enjoying it. He suddenly was spurred to bring her to her climax and so he licked and teased her nipples again, letting his hand wander down between their hot bodies to rub over this small bud of her desire._

_She cried, gasping for air and convulsing, her eyes staring deeply into his. All the more he tried to satisfy her, all the more longing were his lips, all the harder and faster were his thrusts. Her soft clear whimpering got higher and higher and her body convulsed again and again. Dieter held her hips when she cried out and the strong contraction of the muscles of her abdomen made the wonderful tightness between her legs even tighter, sending him again over the edge._

_Gasping desperately for air, he fell on her, laying there both exhausted and dazed with endless satisfaction. After what seemed like an eternity, he was able to prop himself up on his forearms and sink onto the bed next to the woman. Tiredness overpowered him quickly. He wasted no thought on tomorrow, on going to school in the morning, on his mother who may miss him when she comes home from the nightclub where she was working. He only smiled exhausted when the woman pulled the stained blanket over him and herself, warming him with her body._

_He first awoke when a ray of light shone penetratingly into his face. He groaned, rubbing his temples and opening his eyes. The contours of the room got slowly clearer and the realization where he was made him start up with a jerk. He felt completely whacked when he gathered his clothes together and got dressed. It was deadly silent in the whole small flat and suddenly he was overwhelmed by longing for Aimée. It was like a sharp stab through his heart that he had awaken alone; he desperately wished to have her laying next to him, pulling her into his arms and making love to her._

_He started to search for her, pushing the door to the living room open and saw her lying on the sofa, eyes staring up at the ceiling. A bottle lay next to her at the floor where the rest was leaking out from, seeping into the carpet. It stank terribly of bad liquor._

_Dieter opened the door a little more, feeling deeply insecure. She wasted no look at him when he took a seat on the faded velvet cover next to her. "Aimée?" he asked quietly, stroking her cheek._

_She blinked slowly; her gaze was blurred when her eyes met his. "Dearie . . ." she mumbled, groping for his face. "Still . . . here?"_

_He nodded with a painful expression, feeling disgusted by her alcoholic breath. "You're cold," he said quietly. She was only dressed in her dressing gown and the cold air was streaming into the room through the window._

_She reacted with delay, giggling at him. "I'm . . . burning," she slurred, giggling even more._

_It almost broke Dieter's heart to see her in this miserable situation. He jumped up, taking the bottle from the floor and the other one just opened from the table and marching into the kitchen where he wanted to pour the alcohol into the sink, but stopped when he recognized the numerous other bottles in the rubbish bin. A premonition overcame him all of a sudden._

_"What the hell . . . are you doing?" he heard her voice from the door frame. Despite the bottle of schnapps she stood pretty well on her legs. Dieter wasn't surprised; it well reminded him of his father, that drunkard._

_"Why are you doing that? Why are you destroying yourself?" he replied both furious and desperate._

_She regarded him without any expression as if she'd not understand him. With determination he gripped the bottle of schnapps, and started to pour it into the sink._

_"Stop it!" she cried out and staggered forward, grabbing the fabric of his shirt and trying to take the bottle from him. They wrestled with each other until the bottle fell to the ground and broke into pieces. Both were staring at the fragments before she took a swing and slapped his face so that he staggered back. "What the fuck are you doing? Do you have any idea about how many cocks I have to suck to get a bottle?" she screamed at him, her beautiful face distorted into a fury grimace._

_As he only sobbed, her rage disappeared and with her last ounce of strength she let herself sink on a chair at the kitchen table, breathing heavily. Dieter crawled to her, resting his head on her lap. "Why?" he whispered with tears running down his cheeks. "Why?"_

_She gave no answer; instead he saw her sobbing as well when she pulled him up to her. "You're too good, Dearie, ways too good to me . . ." she mumbled. "You showed me that there are still men with a good heart . . ."_

_"You're wonderful," he returned, wanting to kiss her, but she turned her face away._

_"Wonderful?" she repeated and tried to laugh which, however, was more like a sob. "I'm a whore, nothing else." Dieter wanted to contradict, wanted to tell her what a beautiful woman she was, how much he felt for her, well-aware that he only was her punter, but last night had left its mark on him. "Leave," she said, pushing him gently away. He, however, cuddled up even closer to her. "Leave now, Dearie, and don't come back," she said again, sticking something under his shirt. It was banknotes; the very banknotes he had given to her last night._

_And Dieter left her with his heart broken. He quickly wiped off the tears when he closed the flat door behind him. For it was already noon, he went home. His parents were both sleeping - his mother slept always until late afternoon because of her work and his father was sleeping off his drink like usual - he moved back into his tiny room to mourn._

_They met a few times again and slept together, making love with each other as if the world would end tomorrow. In these very moments, Dieter's heart was running over with joy and delight when he stayed with her, buried in her arms and her warm soft body cuddled up to his as if she were yearning for love and affection exactly like he was. One day he managed to persuade her to have a walk along the Spree with him. He held her hand the whole time as if he was afraid of losing her. The passer-bys were confused to see a sixteen-year-old boy with a woman almost twice as old, but Aimée - whose name was Dorothea in truth - was only laughing. Like the blossom on the trees she seemed to blossom out._

_But this carefree laugh was only a tiny sparkle in the darkness. She drank more, and every time he visited her, he found more empty bottles in the rubbish. He'd be too good to her; she always told him when he reacted with fury and desperation. Every time it'd be harder to become intimate with other men and to bear their contempt and perversions because he, Dieter, was so different; so different so that she took him to her heart. But she wasn't good for him, he should search for a nice, lovely girlfriend and graduate from school to get a good job later, otherwise he'd end up like her. Deep down in his heart, Dieter knew that she was speaking the truth, but it was so cruel to accept it._

_And one day when he was visiting her once again in the late afternoon, he was deeply frightened as he arrived at the second floor of the tenement block. The flat door was opened and two men stood there in the frame, talking seriously with each other. One wore a white coat, looking like a doctor and regarding the surroundings disparagingly. The other man, stocky and with a fat paunch, was rather flustered. "For heaven's sake, what fright I got when I found her. That will all end in tears, that's just what I thought from the beginning! Since days I ringed and knocked again and again because she hasn't paid the rent in two months, having no idea whether she's living here at all or already miles away. And then I find her, lying on the sofa, deader than dead. For heaven's sake, I made a sign of the cross for the poor soul and then I saw them, all the bottles lying around."_

_The man dressed in the white coat spoke. "Unfortunately, it happens rather often that these fallen women try to forget their fate and drink themselves to death in doing so." Both men stepped aside to give way to two other men carrying out a bier with a covered body past Dieter who stared after them motionlessly._

_"For heaven's sake, it'll be a real joy to clear up that pigsty . . ." mumbled the fat man who was obviously the landlord before he took notice of Dieter. "Well, young man, can I help you?" he asked in his broad Berlinese dialect._

_"No . . . no, it's alright," Dieter whispered with a stifled voice and ran down the stairs. He still saw the doors of the ambulance closing before the car drove off._

_There're feelings you can put into words and feelings you just have to find new words for them. And it seemed to Dieter that there was no word to give expression to the agony in his heart. The most suitable word would have been a death wish, for the more he became finally aware of that Aimée, his Aimée, his Dorothea was dead and gone now, the more this very feeling grew up in him._

_So he went home and cried. One day passed, then the second and soon the third day. One week had passed in the end, and this week turned into a month. The grief decreased, although he had never imagined to get over it, and also that death wish disappeared, but not without leaving the feelings of sadness and loneliness in his heart. He didn't even know where her grave was, and so he had no other choice than to mourn for her in private, for a whore, for the woman he fell in love with in the first night._

"La Gare du Nord à Paris, le terminus. Descendez, s'il vous plaît," boomed from the speaker and made Dieter wake up with a start.

Heavily breathing, he sat up and wiped the cold sweat off his forehead. His eyes burnt and he felt as if he had to burst into tears like a little boy. He wanted to jump up, taking his belongings and leave the train in a hurry, instead he continued sitting there, paralyzed with pain. Aimée . . . how well this name fitted her, indeed she had been his lover. No other woman in his life had been her equal, maybe because no other woman had been so self-destructive and wicked like her. Dieter knew exactly that this fact was the main reason why he always felt so attracted to those women of easy virtue. He seemed to search for something he had lost with Aimée and not found again until now. That was why he became more and more indifferent towards the women perhaps, indifferent towards their feelings. No one could replace his Aimée and no one he could love like he had loved her.

Exhaustedly, he arose from his seat, taking his bag and briefcase and left the train. When he stepped out of the train station, a young soldier saluted in front of him. First on a closer inspection he recognized the man as Landa's driver. "Heil Hitler, Sturmbannführer. The Standartenführer ordered to pick you up here."

Dieter's heart jumped slightly. He nodded and followed the young soldier towards the black car parked at the roadside. The driver took his bag while Dieter got into it, leaning back. "The Standartenführer has also asked you to submit the report."

"Today?" Dieter asked.

The young soldier nodded in silence as Dieter sighed. He looked out of the window as the car drove off, letting his thoughts wander. Aimée . . . Landa . . . there was no connection between them who became the most important persons in his life. She was personifying his past, but what did Landa personify? Dieter had no idea, although he didn't believe that his superior was asking him to submit the report only in regard to the files from Vichy.


	7. Salvation

_**Welcome to the seventh and last chapter!**_

_Now I was long ago since I updated last because I mainly concentrated on my other story Daydreams/Nightmares and was too quite busy with my studies. But nevertheless, I was finally able to force myself to finish this story and now I'm hoping this last chapter won't disappoint you. I too would like to thank all of you having been so kind to leave a review what made me truly happy._

_My highest gratitude to LittleXMissXFatale for being my beta reader all the time and supporting me with her encouragement! Thank you so much, my dear!_

_Disclaimer:__All characters of the Inglourious-Basterds-Universe are copyrighted to Quentin Tarantino. All other characters are copyright to me._

* * *

><p>"Sturmbannführer." Opening the car door, Landa's driver saluted. Hellstrom nodded shortly, blinking in the bright light of the setting sun. He followed the young man to the front door of the grand town house. It only took a few moments until the door was opened. "Ah Herman, that's fine! I won't need your service tonight," Landa said nodding.<p>

"Yes, Standartenführer. Heil Hitler!" The young man saluted smartly, moving back discreetly.

Dieter looked behind him and had suddenly a lump formed in his throat as he gazed up his superior. Landa wore his usual flawless uniform, both boots and medals were polished and shining in the light of the sunset. A slight, cunning smile appeared on his face. "Just come along, my dear boy." He waved Hellstrom into the entrance hall. "Now, Dieter, your official trip was surely quite taxing, wasn't it? May I offer you a drink?" he continued, laying his hand on Dieter's back and pushing him slightly forward into the salon.

Hellstrom, looking around impressed, cleared his throat. "If you would offer me a Scotch . . ." he said as he fiddled around with his tie knot, because it was rather warm in the room.

"Please, have a sit." Landa pointed to the elegant divan before he turned to a large glass cabinet full of exquisite and expensive looking bottles.

Sitting down, Dieter took off his cap. He was unable not to watch the Standartenführer from the corner of his eyes who had turned his back to him. He had missed him, he had missed Hans, he realized in this very moment, and this realization struck at his heart, affecting him in a way like the memories of Aimée did. He started slightly as Landa suddenly turned around, facing him with his dark, dark eyes, with his pitiless, dominant, captivating eyes. The corners of his mouth twitched and formed into a cunning grin, making him appear like a sly fox. "Have you been successful in Lyon and Vichy? I hope you haven't had all too many problems with the authorities of Marshal Pétain. They can be quite obstinate sometimes . . ." he said in passing as he took two brandy glasses, pouring a bit of the golden liquid into them and took a place in a comfortable armchair opposite Hellstrom.

Getting some files out of his briefcase, Dieter started to explain about the results of his trip, about the different assaults performed by this Jewish-American group of soldiers, these Basterds. He showed his superior with a map the places where German patrols had been attacked. Trademark of all these assaults was, in contrast to those by the Résistance, that all soldiers had lost their scalps. Landa had put his chin on the back of his hand, following the report of his younger colleague. After Hellstrom finished talking, his superior smiled satisfied and toasted to him which made his cheeks flush gently. "Now, tell me, Dieter, have you missed Paris?" Landa asked all of a sudden.

Hellstrom was caught in his thoughts. "With all due respect, Standartenführer, but you surely rather mean if I missed somebody in Paris, don't you?" he replied.

Tilting his head, Landa's eyes flashed with amusement and a kind of play instinct. "You're learning quite fast, my boy," he said, grinning both kindly and mockingly.

Dieter however had casted down his eyes, regarding the toes of his boots. "I have doubted myself so often during the last weeks," he mumbled with a sad expression.

His superior raised his eyebrows questioning. "In what way are you doubting yourself?" he probed interested.

The young Sturmbannführer turned his face away. "All that . . . all my emotions are so . . . so immoral," he whispered slowly.

"Moral . . ." Landa snorted with contempt. "What do you think is moral, my boy? Moral isn't a consistent thing but is subjected to change all the time. Moral is only an image of all conventions holding sway in the very society we live in, nothing else. Virtuous, morally good is everybody obeying those maxims deemed as right by the society, but what says this kind of behaviour about a single person?" He made a short break to raise the tension. "Nothing, my dear boy, it says nothing. At best, you can confirm a rather negative characteristic, namely a sort of sacrificium intellectus, the blind obedience." Dieter swallowed laboriously, for there it was again, this feeling that his superior could read him as easily as a book. He turned his face away while Landa still stared at him, grinning more cunning than ever before. "You too are one of these people, who are satisfied if they only can obey, aren't you? And even more: It's the voluntary anticipation of suspected orders to escape possible pressure in advance what makes you as obsequious as a dog."

Landa's voice had become colder and harder with every word, and Dieter seemed to shrink under his gaze. With a rapidly pounding heart, he watched his superior arise from his armchair and step towards him. Landa's hand dug into his dark hair, pulling his head pitilessly into his nape. "And do you know, my boy, what are characteristic preconditions for this pre-emptive obedience? You don't?" he asked, miming a disappointed expression as Dieter shook his head. He bent forward to whisper into the young man's ear: "Fear and a lack of self-confidence are what degrade you to a mere subject, to a uniform being blindly dependent on supposed authorities while you try to compensate your inferior self with the very exaggerated appearance you put on," Landa whispered with a dark, dangerous voice, increasing the grip of his hand. Hellstrom hissed painfully. "Yes, Dieter, you know, you know deep down in your heart that I'm speaking nothing but the mere truth, don't you?"

The Standartenführer regarded Dieter for a moment whose face had distorted to a tormented mask. Hellstrom hissed again when he was pulled up by his hair. He felt tears rising up in his eyes. "Look at me, Dieter," Landa ordered quietly yet with such an authority in the voice that the young Sturmbannführer didn't dare not to obey. He could see his own contorted face reflecting in the shining glass of the cabinet. His uniform was an extreme contrast to his inferior self, his uniform was the manifestation of all he desired: Power, prestige and masculinity. It was his uniform that concealed his feelings of inferiority, his self-doubts and his fears from the eyes of the world. "I can tell by your eyes that you're aware of the truth of my words, my boy," Landa mumbled, standing behind him. He too regarded Hellstrom's mirror image in the glass cabinet. "You're standing here and now, dressed in your uniform as expression of your convictions and your belonging to a greater whole. You only have the feeling of identity when slipping in your uniform in which you couldn't fall victim to a more fatal mistake, for your uniform takes all your identity from you by degrading you to a creature of a suspect political movement, to a nobody who, captured in his miserable existence, cling closer to that very movement which has only just turned you into a pitiful creature." Landa watched him once more before he snorted derisively, pushing Hellstrom abruptly away.

Dieter fell on his knees, his legs were too weak to carry him any longer. There he sat now, huddling up on the fine Persian rug. Tears dropped down over his cheeks as he bit his lower lip in order not to sob. Oh yes, he knew, he knew only too well how right Landa was. He had become exactly what he always had scorned in former times: A bootlicker, crawling to the bigwigs and bullying the underlings; an idolater obeying the cold power he only took part in with suffering.

"Look at me, Dieter," he heard Landa say. The Standartenführer had stepped closely to him, now gazing down at him with an expressionless face. Quckly, Hellstrom wiped the tears away and raised his eyes. Landa's mouth twitched into a gruel and sadistic smile what made the young man's heart pound painfully fast. The contrast to the diabolic fire in his superior's eyes couldn't have been harder as he indicated him with a gently signal to get up. Breathing heavily, Hellstrom got up, wiping his sweaty hand on his trousers. Gentle like a kind father, Landa patted his cheek which made him sigh with desperate longing. Landa seemed to understand only too well, for he bent forward, kissing the young man briefly. Before Hellstrom could reply the kiss, he had pulled back, regarding him with satisfaction. "Undress," he ordered quietly.

Dieter swallowed, his Adam's apple moved painfully. His whole body trembled with fear and lust. He felt like he couldn't survive Landa's gazes and so hid his face in his hands like a timid child. The sight of the Standartenführer, so glorious in his gruel astuteness, was hardly bearable.

"Undress," Landa repeated, eyes glistening with hubris, feasting with pleasure on the weakness of the creature in front of him. How sweet it was to break a human piece by piece. The feeling of power and superiority was the strongest wine that he became intoxicated by; nothing did he enjoy more than to subjugate other people to his will. His hands trembled as well when he stepped towards Hellstrom and began to slowly let them wander over the young man's body. Instinctively, he wondered how long it was along since he met such a handsome man like the Sturmbannführer, and he had to admit that despite everything it wasn't only a sadistic joy fulfilling him. No, it too was lust that he felt as an admirer of beauty in its different forms. Deliberately as if he wanted to savour every second, he stroked Hellstrom's chest and then downwards over his stomach and between his legs.

Dieter opened his eyes wide, groaning so loudly, making Landa shiver. The young man dug his hands in the other man's uniform, not sure whether to push him away or pull him closer. Latter of both wishes gained the upper hand, and so he pressed himself against Landa's chest, closing his eyes, moaning as the Standartenführer began to rub his member through his trousers. Dieter licked his lips with pleasure, moving his groin carefully. Landa's breath had gotten heavier and heavier, drops of sweat stood on his forehead. A dark feeling of lust, the will to own and to rule this young man in front of him, overpowered him, made him press his lips on Hellstrom's mouth, biting down on his lips. Dieter moaned in both pain and pleasure as he sensed his own blood, a disgustingly sweet, metal taste. Both man gasped for breath when their lips separated. "Undress, my dear boy," Landa repeated again as he took place in the broad armchair. "That's an order," he hissed dangerously.

Dieter's trembling hands had problems opening the buckle of his belt and the buttons of his uniform jacket. His gaze was fastened on his superior as he continued to undress, undoing his tie and taking off his suspenders. The Standartenführer sighed as he opened his brown shirt, exposing his pale skin. "Continue," Landa ordered domineeringly with throaty voice.

Hellstrom slipped quickly out of his boots and reached for his trouser waistband. Landa sat upright, signalling him with a discreet movement of hand to go on. Embarrassment reddened Dieter's pale cheeks when he opened his trousers and let them slide down. Landa looked directly and bluntly at the swelling in his crotch. Instinctively, the young man laid his hand protectingly over it. "Come over here," his superior commanded whereupon Dieter approached him with shaking legs.

Landa breathed deeply in, like a predator smelling its prey. "Do you know what, Dieter? You're making me so hungry that I could eat you up," he whispered. "But now, do you want to withhold the probably most beautiful part of your body from me, my dear boy? You've woken an implacable yearning in me and if my eyes aren't mistaken – and I don't think they're mistaken – so you're too overcome with lust, aren't you?" Landa sight pleasurably and leant back. "The pants now, please," he ordered.

Had he ever felt more humiliated in his whole life before like in this very moment? Dieter remembered no other event as he slowly pulled down the waistband of his pants.

"What a body," Landa mumbled, arising from the armchair and walking around Hellstrom. "So wiry, almost fragile, so distinct from this sharp and crafty mind." The young man gasped when he grabbed his chin, forcing him to look in his eyes. "And . . ." he continued with a cunning look, "such a well-formed manhood . . . like created for the breeding of the descendants of the Aryan race." His voice was almost dripping with mockery now; nonetheless he closed his hand around Dieter's erection and kneaded his strong buttocks with the other hand.

Hellstrom moaned again when Landa began to rub his hard flesh. Gently, he pressed one finger against his opening which made the younger man whimper almost as high as a girl. "Please . . . please . . ." he begged, unable to decide if fear or lust drove him.

It didn't matter to Landa who was grinning more cunningly than ever before. "Now, Dieter, just tell me what you want." The younger man watched him frightened, so he sighed impatiently. "You're the virgin, so I think it's just fair to let you decide where we shall continue," he explained with his typically patronizing and charming smile.

"I . . . I . . ." Dieter returned stammeringly when he looked at his superior who had begun once more to caress his body.

"It's fine, my boy," Landa said with a nod and kissed the younger man to his surprise tenderly on his mouth. "I think I guess what you want to tell me. Come." Laying an arm around Hellstrom's waist, he gently pushed him out of the salon.

"I . . . want you," Dieter suddenly uttered. He quickly covered his mouth with his hands. There it was, the forbidden truth he had spoken out now.

Landa however seemed be surprisingly serious as he pressed the younger man's body against his. "I want you too, Dieter, yet . . ." his mouth twitched dangerously, "I'm not completely sure if you'll like how I'll take you. I think you will, otherwise we wouldn't have come to this very moment we're now." He slapped his buttocks and then pulled him along with him upstairs.

Feeling dazed by lust, Hellstrom first realized that they were in Landa's bedroom as his superior closed the door quietly, yet firmly. "Lay down," he told him in passing as if he would offer him a sit in a normal meeting. Obediently, Dieter laid down on the large bed. The cold silk sheets stuck to his back where the sweat ran down. The bedroom was surprisingly modestly furnished, building a strong contrast to the other excessively luxurious furniture of the house. Except of the bed with sparkling white pillows and covers, there were only a large wardrobe and a small dressing table with a mirror.

Automatically, Dieter covered his bareness again but his superior gave him a warning look. The silence was only broken by Landa's clearly audible breath as he stood up in front of the bed, looking down on the naked body of the young man. "Frankly speaking, I wondered if I should keep you in suspense a little longer, but . . ." Charmingly smiling, he moved his hand. "Well, I too was fascinated by the thought of . . . well, getting better acquainted." He grinned to himself as he started to open his uniform jacket. Dieter sat up with a jerk which made Landa stop. "Lay down," he commanded with an iron voice. Unwillingly, Dieter laid back flat down on the bed, desperately trying to watch his superior undress. He was bursting with curiosity how the Standartenführer might look under his uniform, if his skin was rough or soft, if his body had this typical male scent he had always imagined in his dreams.

To his disappointment, Landa only took off the jacket and tie before he came to him into the bed. His hands wandered hungrily over the young man's body, his lips feasted longingly on his soft, pale skin, biting his nipples and sucking his earlobes. Hellstrom flung his head from one side to the other side, moaning desperately with yet unfulfilled desire. He dug his nails into Landa's strong shoulders and tried to touch and explore his body but his superior smashed his hands away. "I thought I had spoken plainly," he hissed so frostily that Dieter froze and didn't dare to move.

"Please, I didn't want- " he began, but cried with pain as Landa grabbed his belt from the dressing table and whipped him with full force on the thigh. A bright red weal appeared within seconds on his pale skin.

"Turn around on your stomach," Landa whispered, unable to ban the sadistic joy from his voice.

His whole body was trembling when Dieter who couldn't help but obey turned around on his stomach and dug his hands in the blanket. Fear paralyzed him, and he abruptly remembered his childhood, his father and how often he had pulled out his belt from his waistband to whip him when he was drunk. The hiss before the leather hid his naked skin, the burning pain and the terrible feeling of helplessness had engraved in his memory only too well, so that he now, just like the little boy he was, huddled up, sobbing quietly.

"What's the matter, my dear boy?" Landa asked sweetly while he let the leather belt gently wander over the young man's buttocks.

When Hellstrom helplessly shook his head, continuing to sob, Landa was pervaded with pure satisfaction, like always when he had won one of these little games he loved to play. And this pitiful creature now in front of him on his bed, having nothing in common any more with the cold, arrogant officer of the Gestapo, was the zenith of his game. He got him.

Satisfied with himself and the entire world, Landa put the belt away and undressed completely now before he took place next to his colleague. "Dieter," he mumbled, stroking paternally over his head and then grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up. Large palish blue eyes stared miserably at him. Tears dropped down his cheeks, his lips trembled uncontrollably. Patient like a kind father, Landa wiped the tears away and kissed him softly yet hungrily. Desperated, Dieter returned the arm, wrapping his arms around the warm body of his superior. "Relax," Landa said as he closed his hand around his hard flesh and started to rub it with fast movements.

Laying his head back, Hellstrom sight with an ecstatic smile. His heart pounded faster when Landa's finger slipped like before between his buttocks. "Oh God, oh God . . ." he gasped.

"No need to be afraid, Dieter," Landa replied, kissing him again. Yet Hellstrom looked little convinced, so he got up and took a small tin from the dressing table, showing him. The inscription told the young man that was pomade. Landa took a bit and greased his hard manhood; then he took another bit and let his finger slip again between Hellstrom's buttocks. Dieter got goose-bumps, feeling the cold fabric on such an intimate spot. He forced himself to relax and bit down into the pillow as Landa penetrated him very slowly and gently. Lying there completely passively, he put up no resistance and allowed his superior to do what he wanted to do. However, when Landa opened his legs, rising up his pelvis, he tensed up involuntarily. "Shhh," Landa uttered and bent forward to kiss the younger man while the head of his erection pushed against Dieter's opening.

Hellstrom opened his eyes wide, digging his fingernails into Landa's shoulder blades, breathing heavily, and writhed with pain as the elder man invaded his body with slow and careful movements. He had the feeling to tear internally, he wanted to cry yet he couldn't utter a single sound. "Hans . . ." he whimpered at last.

Landa stopped to give the young man some time to relax, for Dieter's pleading begging and obvious pain had struck a chord with him. So he pulled him against his chest and stroked his dark hair, waiting patiently until his breathing had slowed down. He was surprised about the unexpectedly solicitousness he felt as Hellstrom looked directly at him with these large, blue eyes like a girl's. The young man seemed to ask silently for permission to touch and kiss him, and Landa's paternal smile encouraged him. So he struck the elder man's hairy chest; he even dared to kiss him shyly. His body convulsed when Landa now pushed faster into him, seized his hips in a hard grip. The sound of bare flesh slapping against bare flesh drowned both men's moaning. "You're so tight, Dieter, like a virgin," he laughed breathlessly.

Hellstrom too gasped for air, but his face expressed him feeling rather pain than pleasure, so Landa grabbed his hard member, rubbing it in the rhythm of his thrusts. He sank into a maelstrom of passion and got sweep down into a dark abyss. "Look at me, Dieter," Landa commanded. His face was reddened, his eyes sparkled, sweat ran down his temples. "I want you to look me deeply into the eyes when you come."

Throwing from one to the other side, Dieter tensed up, groaning unrestrained and full of relief, eyes opened wide, when he couldn't hold back the pressure in his pelvis and came in Landa's hand. His physical desire was sated yet he sensed against this very feeling of having committed a mortal sin in his mind. He gasped and shivered when Landa reached his climax with a hoarse groan, filling him with his hot semen.

Heavily breathing, both men laid on top of each other, holding their sweaty bodies tightly until Landa withdrew carefully and rolled on his back. He watched Dieter who had sat up after a couple of minutes and seemed to be in a pensive mood. Suddenly Hellstrom got out of the bed. His body was still trembling, his hand shook as he stroked through his hair, looking back to Landa for a short moment. He then opened the door and closed it behind him.

Landa heard him stepping down the stairs. Shortly thereafter, the front door got closed. Landa nodded slowly. He had already expected something like and was accordingly little surprised about his colleague's behaviour. For the air was stale, smelling of sweat and semen, he got up to open the window before he stepped out of the room in the corridor where he could look on the street from. A slim figure, dressed in a black leather coat and with a black cap on the head, stood under a street lamp, lighting a cigarette. The person looked up to him. Landa wondered if Hellstrom whether only guessed or could see him standing here and watching him, anyhow he snapped to attention and raised the right arm before he turned around and disappeared in the night. Landa grinned quietly to himself which increased to a loud laughter. He was already looking forward to meeting his boy at work tomorrow . . .


End file.
